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clairenatural · 4 years ago

Note

Shy Nerd | Dean

Punk | Castiel

[ the world needs more of this]

college au! this ran away from me and ended up 2.2k whoops :’) i hope you like it! (also note i have no idea how motors work i am not an engineer)

There’s an open textbook on his bed, but Dean is ignoring it; instead, he’s scrolling aimlessly through Instagram. He doesn’t really understand Instagram, but Charlie had looked so shocked and dismayed when she found out he didn’t have one that he’d given in. He doesn’t post much—doesn’t have much to post, really, besides his car and LARPing with Charlie—but it sure is a good distraction from his physics work. He sighs and flops down on his back as he taps through stories. It’s a Friday night, so there’s all the usual parties, and clubbing videos, and group dinner shots. He frowns as he taps through Charlie’s story of a few of their friends playing D&D—he’d be there, too, if it weren’t for his exam. His physics final, on Monday, that he should be studying for. Instead of being on Instagram.

Dean is about to close the app and begrudgingly turn his attention back to his notes when he clicks onto one last story.

HELP NEEDED ASAP, it says, white against a black background, in all caps. Someone who is good at engineering. Or building. Or even just welding things. I’ll pay you, it continues, and then in pizza and beer. Please, in smaller font, directly below.

Dean pauses. He likes beer. And pizza. And building things. He could help out this—who posted this, anyway? It’s a name he doesn’t recognize. casanova.k. He taps on the profile picture. His eyes go wide.

Oh.

That guy. That guy from the hipster art party Charlie had dragged him to earlier in the semester, when she was still dating that art girl, and he’d ended up in a dark room thick with smoke, blurry with alcohol, talking to a guy about three levels of cool higher than him about…something he can’t remember. He just remembers hastily exchanging Instagrams as Charlie dragged him out of the party, ranting about her soon-to-be-ex.

And now he needs help.

Dean looks at his textbook. He looks back at the guy’s—Cas?—Instagram. He takes a deep breath and pulls up a message.

i like beer, pizza, and welding things

It’s smoother than usual, and Dean is proud of himself for about 2 seconds before he panics and ruins it: i’m an engineer, i mean. not just a rando with a thing for power tools, haha.

There’s an achingly long pause before Cas likes both messages.

This is how Dean Winchester ends up standing in the University’s metalwork studio, with 24 hours left until his final exam, staring at a multi-eyed, multi-winged, metal…thing.

It’s due next week, Cas had said. I know it’s last minute. The only studio space I could get was Sunday.

And Dean had said yes, like a fool, because he can never say no to boys in eyeliner with pretty eyes.

Now, staring up at the sculpture, Dean lets out a low whistle. Cas, next to him, groans and drags one hand down his face. “I know. It’s—this is why I need help, alright? I think I can still salvage it if I just—”

Dean, who has taken a few steps forward to admire the intricacies, looks up sharply. “What?”

Cas frowns back. “What?”

Dean shakes his head. “No, I mean—I’m not an art guy, but this metalwork is great, man.” He traces one of the welded seams. “You, uh. Obviously have good hands,” he continues, and then winces. Great compliment.

There’s a soft huff and Dean looks up to see Cas watching him, bemused. “My good hands,” he emphasizes it, and part of Dean wishes he could melt like solder. “Make me a good artist. They do not make me good at making things move.”

Dean blinks at him. “Excuse me?” Move?

Cas frowns again, but it’s more out of worry than confusion. His arms are crossed, and Dean tries very hard not to focus on the black ink swirling down his forearm. “I sent you the plans yesterday.” Now he’s chewing on his lip ring, too, and Dean rips his attention back to the steel structure to stop himself from focusing on that, either. He tries to think about these plans. He remembers getting the text, opening them……and immediately disregarding them in lieu of getting as much studying done as possible. Internally, he groans.

Externally, he nods, pretends to know exactly what these “plans” are. “Sure, yeah,” he covers, and hopes it’s convincing.

The metal…thing, because Dean still isn’t sure exactly what it is, has a cluster of wings in the middle—6, to be exact, and they’re poking up around 3 large rings. He reaches out for one of the rings, right between two of its welded eyes, and gives it an experimental push. It creaks, and sways, and Dean winces when he hears Cas suck in a breath behind him. “Sorry”, he mutters, but when he turns back around Cas is frowning at the art piece and not at him.

Dean is expecting to hear either it’s alright or, more likely, never touch my art again, but Cas just hums and steps up until he’s standing next to Dean. “What do you think this is?”

It’s the closest they’ve been since he arrived, and Dean takes a moment to observe the other student from this distance. He’s wearing black boots, black jeans. A t-shirt with a band on it that Dean has never heard of. His nails are black but the rings he’s wearing are silver, and so is the cross hanging around his neck. His hair looks like he either spent an hour on it or no time at all, and his eyes—like at that party, the one neither of them has mentioned yet—are rimmed in black. Dean, in his sneakers and second-hand jeans and faded Batman shirt, has never felt less cool.

“It’s an angel,” Cas continues, and Dean isn’t sure if he’s given up on waiting for a response or if he’d never expected one in the first place. “A biblical one. You know, the ‘be not afraid,’ kind.” He lowers his voice for the angel impression, which Dean didn’t think was possible. He doesn’t know what to do with the realization that it is.

“Don’t think this is what my mom meant when she used to say angels were watching over me,” Dean tries for a joke, and it’s half-hearted, but to his relief Cas chuckles anyway.

“Yes, well. The church preaches them as significantly more…cuddly.” Cas frowns. “It makes praying to them easier to sell.”

The cross around his neck is starting to get confusing.

“And these—these are gonna move,” Dean hazards a guess, reaching out to touch one of the rings again. “All of them?”

“They’re electrons,” Cas nods, which Dean supposes is an answer. “They should all circle the wings together, like the classic atom diagram. But I can’t—” Cas reaches out for the ring this time, hand landing directly above Dean’s. He pushes it, and it sways. Obviously frustrated, he pulls back. “I need it to be motorized, to look right. And I have the motor but don’t know how…to do it.”

And, well. That, Dean understands. He smiles and, in a burst of confidence, claps Cas on the shoulder. Cas looks up at him, startled, but his expression morphs into a soft smile at the look on Dean’s face.

“Let’s get her moving, then.”

He tries not to think about the time slipping away as Cas hauls out the motor, or when he hands Dean tools. He does not stare too long at Cas’ biceps when he’s screwing something in, or when they have to do last-minute welding. They get it hooked up, and it whirs to life, and Dean does not think about how late it is when Cas gives him a hug in his excitement, or when he promises to follow up on his beer and pizza promise at his apartment.

It’s there, back in Cas’ apartment, sitting on his living room floor, both a beer or two in, when Cas finally mentions it.

“You’re the one who gave me that idea, you know.”

Dean stops mid-chew and blinks at him. “Whg—” he swallows his bite of pizza and tries again. “What?”

Cas shrugs and doesn’t make eye contact. He picks at the beer label. “At the party we met at. The one we aren’t talking about, for some reason.”

Dean wants Cas’ ugly, blue, cigarette-smelling shag carpet to swallow him whole.

“You told me you don’t ‘get’ art,” he sets the beer bottle down to do air quotes, and Dean’s shame deepens. “Because you only ‘get’ science. And I told you they were the same thing. And you told me to prove it.”

Suddenly, it clicks, and Dean risks making eye contact. Cas catches his gaze and holds it steady, and he’s calm—not upset, Dean registers, which is a relief. “The atom,” he blurts out, and Cas grins. “Yeah.”

“Art and science.”

“Yeah.”

Dean is sitting up straighter now. “But, the angel—”

Cas sighs and pushes himself up from where he’d been leaning against the couch. He turns until he’s fully facing Dean. “Divinity,” he raises one hand, “and the core building blocks of humanity,” he raises the other. “Art,” he gestures with the first hand, “and science.” With the second.

Dean stares at him. “Are you calling art divine?”

“Art is an expression of divinity,” Cas shrugs. “Science is an explanation for it. But it’s—you know. The same thing.”

Dean wonders how he can say that so casually, so nonchalantly. He wonders what would happen if he crossed the pizza-box distance and kissed him.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts instead, and Cas raises his eyebrows. “The party, I didn’t think—I didn’t think you remembered.”

“I assumed you didn’t,” Cas counters. “But you did. You do. Why didn’t you text me?”

It’s exactly what he expected to hear and it still catches him off guard. “Um—” Dean stammers, trying to think of a good excuse. Cas is just watching him—not staring at, watching—brows furrowed.

With a heavy sigh, Dean settles on the truth. “Come on, man. Look at me,” he scoffs and stares down at his jeans, the already worn knees even worse after the day spent kneeling on concrete. “I’m an engineering dork who plays D&D on Fridays and you’re—” he waves vaguely in Cas’ direction. “You know.”

The frown has deepened. “I don’t.”

“Cool.” It sounds so juvenile to say it out loud.

Now, Cas looks taken aback. “Dean. We met at a party where I voluntarily listened to you talk about string theory for an hour and a half.”

Dean doesn’t know if that’s a compliment or not. He buries any possible blush with a swig of beer. “String theory’s cool,” he grumbles into the bottle.

“Yes.” Cas agrees. “And so are you. Although—” he pauses and tilts his head. “I could have sworn you were in physics, based on how much you talk—”

Dean is so caught up in Cas Novak calling him cool that it takes his brain a second to process the word “physics,” but when he does he nearly spits beer all over the ugly carpet. “Shit,” he swears, already starting to scramble up.

“What?” Cas is following him, frowning.

“Physics final. In—” he checks his watch, “—16 hours. I gotta—” he still has time to water down the beer, study, and get at least 7 hours of sleep before—

“…Why did you just spend all day helping me if you have a final tomorrow?” Dean pauses from where he’s trying to find his other shoe to glance back at Cas, who looks so genuinely baffled it shoots a warmness into Dean’s heart.

“You needed help,” Dean shrugs, finally locating the missing sneaker and pulling it on. “Good luck with the angel, though, okay? If it gives you any running issues, feel free to—”

He’s pulling on his jacket when he feels a touch on his arm and realizes that, sometime in the past 20 seconds, Cas has crossed the room to him. “Dean,”

Dean pauses, and Cas…looks nervous.

“I like D&D,” he offers, and Dean stares at him.

“What.”

Cas levels his gaze. “There is nothing more punk than dragons,” he replies, incredibly seriously.

Dean’s brain short-circuits.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline from the exam panic, maybe it’s the 1.5 beers, maybe it’s Cas’ hand still warm on his arm, maybe he’s still caught up in Cas calling him cool and maybe his brain takes an extra second to load his self-consciousness on its reboot, but—he leans down and kisses him.

Cas makes a small noise but kisses him back almost immediately—but then he’s pulling back nearly as quickly, and he gently pushes Dean back by the shoulders when he tries to follow. Not far enough away to be a rejection, just…enough. “You have an exam in the morning,” he says this like an apology, and the warmth in Dean’s chest grows. “Text me after?”

Dean nods, then pauses, realizes what Cas just said, and nods again. “Yeah, I—yeah, I will.”

“There’s not enough alcohol here for you to pretend to forget this time,” he teases, but he’s smiling.

Dean flushes anyway. “I’m sorry.”

Cas shakes his head and pushes him a bit. “Apologize tomorrow. Go.”

“Okay.” Dean doesn’t move.

“Okay,” Cas replies.

“Okay,” Dean says, and leans down to kiss him again, a quick one, because he thinks maybe he can.

“Okay,” Cas repeats, but his tone is fond. “Go.”

“Okay,” Dean repeats back. But this time, he does.

The next day, after he aces his physics final, he doesn’t pretend to forget.

#destiel #deancas #punk!cas #nerd!dean #i didnt know how to end this lmao sorry!!!!#(also ik this isn't quite as punk as the typical punk!cas im sorry sadhakdsh)#but wow i love these two now #this took me back its been a WHILE since i read/wrote some good punk/nerd #thank u anon #they live in my brain now #my words #follower fics #alcohol mention

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 4 years ago

Text

A Miraculous TikTok Account

Part 20

First

I get a little fight scene. As a treat.

Ladybug hated fire.

Maybe that was why Hawkmoth seemed determined to have at least one fire type akuma a month. She didn’t know if or how he knew, but it seemed like something he’d do.(Maybe he played Pokemon, she mused, and knew that bug types were weak against fire types. She doubted it, though.)

But the problem, somehow, wasn’t currently the giant fire demon. It was that they were falling very quickly.

She reached past Carapace to grab ahold of the back of Rena’s suit and unfurled her wings. She pulled the woman closer to her and forced herself to a quick stop, which was decidedly NOT fun. Her brain rattled in her head as she felt the boys tear past them and Rena made a choking sound when her suit dug into her.

But she’d managed to stop them from falling. And with four meters to spare. A new record!

She changed her grip on Rena to hold her in her arms and checked her throat as she slowly made her way down. A little red and irritated, but fine.

She set her on the ground and looked around for the boys.

Chat had landed on his feet with ease. Carapace had made a staircase out of plates and was doing that awkward half-run people do when they start falling down the stairs and need to go fast to stay upright.

She set her down and allowed herself to breathe.

Cool. No one died.

(Yet. She suspected that Chloe would be getting at least a little punch once the akuma was gone if the look on the other holders’ faces meant anything.)

Their not-so-smooth entrance had apparently been noticed by Cinderella. How did she figure this out?

“FOOT!” Warned Carapace, which wasn’t really needed because the giant foot was hard to miss but whatever.

The four scattered like the rats in Ratatouille. The world shook in a way that nearly threw her off-balance and it took everything in her not to go skidding across the asphalt on her stomach.

She ducked behind a currently untouched car -- a bad idea considering if the car caught on fire the gasoline would blow her sky high but it was cover so she was ignoring it -- and looked around wildly for some sort of inspiration.

Rena was nowhere to be seen. Ladybug figured she was attempting to get civilians to safety.

Chat and Carapace had taken it upon themselves to attempt to distract Cinderella. They yelled for her attention from random spots and then attempted to not become stains on the pavement as the increasingly annoyed akuma attempted to squash them under her heel or sent a trail of fire after them.

Ladybug vaguely noted that Cinderella was rather slow to react, which wasn’t abnormal for larger akumas, but it was still good to note that in case she could use that...

She considered making a tripwire with the streetlights. It was a classic. Unfortunately, though, she doubted that the streetlights were strong enough to stop something as big as this particular akuma.

(Also, her yoyo string catching on fire or getting caught under Cinderella would not have been good.)

She felt a hand tap her shoulder and nearly jumped out of her skin. She turned to look and Rena and scowled at being pulled out of her thinking process. “What?”

Rena winced a little bit at her sharp tone but pointed out the fire hydrant nearby. “Help me with this.”

She looked over at it and nodded. She wrapped her yoyo around it and the two of them threw their weight into trying to cut the hydrant in half.

No dice, unfortunately.

Time for more drastic measures.

“Go get cover.”

“But --!”

“Go.”

Rena looked like she was about to try and argue again, but she stopped herself and ran to hide in a building.

Ladybug pushed the car to the hydrant and climbed on top of it.

“HEY! CINDERELLA!”

A tear-stained (was it still called tear-stained if she cried lava?) face turned towards her.

A trail of flame went straight for her and Ladybug barely had time to think ‘oh fuck’ before the car beneath her exploded.

She went flying -- in the bad way. A weird weightlessness overtook her and she struggled to unfurl her wings through the haze. She hit a nearby building and it took everything in her not to cry out as her own ribcage did its best to poke holes in her.

She slid to the ground and rested her head back against the concrete. Everything hurt. She was pretty sure she’d felt her brain hit the back of her skull and every breath rattled in her lungs and her ears was threatening to drive her insane and every bone she had seemed to be trying to break out and…

She just wanted to close her eyes and sleep… just for a minute...

A new, sharp pain flared across her cheek and her eyes flew open to see Chloe standing over her.

“Don’t die on me.”

She attempted to swat the giant bug away so she could sleep, which didn’t work because her body was currently not responding to her wishes. She had to settle for a slurred ‘fuck off’. All she got was a tiny scoff as the woman pointed her spinning top at her.

If Ladybug could move, she would have cringed when honey covered her. It was so… weird feeling, honestly. It was even weirder to feel her bones mending and her blood slowly seeping back into her. She’d been doing it for years and yet she doubted she’d ever get used to it.

Within a minute, Ladybug could move her limbs. She reached out and Chloe took her hand, pulling her out of the honey...

Ah. Fire. She’d forgotten about the fire. Somehow.

Probably because the water that had erupted out of where the fire hydrant had once been and now the fire was struggling to get near them. (Her socks were drenched, though, so she could hardly think of this as a positive.)

“What’d you figure out?”

Chloe gave her a slightly annoyed look but she started explaining: “Cinderella is only wearing the veil, the dress, and some shoes. I couldn’t find any pins or belts, so unless Hawkmoth started hiding the akumatized items it has to be one of those.”

Ladybug nodded and looked up at Cinderella. What could they do? Usually the akumatized object was obvious...

Rena materialized next to them and the two immediately reached to push each other behind themselves. Then they relaxed.

Ladybug winced internally when she heard Chat give a cry of pain. They were on borrowed time.

“You got a plan?” She asked. Her pride wasn’t worth her housemates’ lives.

Rena hesitated. “I have one for the veil.”

They waited in polite silence for her to continue, and when she didn’t Chloe made a tiny motion to say ‘get on with it, will you?’

She beamed. “One of you needs to fly Chat up to destroy it.”

Ladybug considered this and then nodded. “Queenie, I’ll leave that to you. I can get the dress with a lucky charm. Can you and Carapace destroy the shoes?”

Rena nodded seriously.

There was a flicker of light around them and Cinderella paused mid-stomp. She made a confused sound that was audible miles below.

Chat and Carapace looked like they were going to collapse -- out of exhaustion or relief, it was hard to tell.

The women walked over and Chloe went to work on healing Carapace.

“What’s the plan?” Asked Chat who, besides the arm that appeared to be doing its best imitation of a staircase, looked fine.

The women exchanged looks as if to say ‘I’M not going to tell him, you do it’, and this was enough for Chat to figure out that whatever it was he wasn’t going to like it. Or maybe it was the fact that Chloe didn’t seem all that concerned about healing him up.

Whatever had tipped him off, he fell back in the water and groaned.

Thank the kwamis for Rena’s powers. Why hadn’t Master Fu given someone this miraculous sooner? Fights were SO much easier with her around.

Rena and Carapace had taken to latching onto Cinderella’s feet and attempting not to get thrown off as she kicked building after building in search of… something? Maybe them, maybe the person who had gotten her akumatized, they didn’t know for sure.

Chloe had taken Chat up to her head to Cataclysm the veil.

Ladybug had summoned the largest sword she could while still making it functional and positioned it over the top of Cinderella’s dress, preparing for her drop.

And all of that was met with zero resistance, because the akuma couldn’t see them.

“NOW!” Yelled Chloe.

Chat started screaming as he was dropped onto the flame-covered veil and she ignored the taste of bile. It would be fine soon, the akuma would be gone and they could fix it, she reminded herself.

But it might not be gone if she didn’t do anything soon, so she should probably get on with it.

Ladybug fought her normal self-preservation instincts and stabbed the giant flame demon, then flew downward as quickly as she could.

The akuma attempted to get away from the sword currently splitting her and her dress open, but it was too late.

She was just cutting a cake she was just cutting a cake she was just cutting a cake that was SCREAMING --.

Just a cake!

And then the sword was slicing through nothing.

She peeked her eyes open and found that someone else must have gotten the akuma. She dropped the sword and looked around wildly for a falling body.

There.

She caught the person who had been Cinderella and vaguely registered the sound of Chloe whizzing past her to catch Chat.

Ladybug glanced down at the sword steadily falling to earth and winced, willing it to disappear before it managed to do any damage to the newly-resurrected people below.

She allowed the person to rest her head against her shoulder as she slowly made her descent, her fingers combing through her hair soothingly.

It was done.

~~~

Taglist

@nathleigh @sassakitty @th1s-1s-my-aesthet1c @blueslushgueen @woe-is-me0 @ladybug-182 @cas-and-their-refusal-to-write @trippingovermyfeet

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originalnuttale · 3 years ago

Text

Ticklefest - Castiel

Reighn and Castiel had been close ever since they first met, they just clicked. The two had recently started dating, and they were left alone at the bunker while the brothers were out.

Reighn sat close to Castiel, his arm around her. His free hand had accidentally touched her side by her ribs, causing her to yelp because it tickled.

Castiel was immediately on his knees in front of her, holding her hand. "Reighn, what's wrong? What did I do, are you hurt?" Reighn laughed and shook her head. "No, I'm okay, Cas. It tickled, that's all." Castiel frowned. "Is that a bad thing?" Reighn laughed again and held his hands tightly. "No, it's not. It's a joyful feeling."

Castiel hummed and tested it by stroking her ribs, causing her to laugh and push him away. "Stop it Cas!" Castiel frowned and moved away. "I apologize." Reighn rolled her eyes with a smile. "I didn't mean it." Cas tilted his head to the side and grinned, sitting very close to her and poking her side. After a few minutes of her laughing, he straddled her legs so she couldn't flail them and tickled both of her sides, causing her to almost cry from laughing so much.

It wasn't long after that started that Dean and Sam walked back in, and Dean frowned while Sam laughed. "Get the hell off my little sister you winged bastard! Not on the couch, come'on man!" Castiel jumped up quickly and folded his hands together. "'m sorry, forgive me, Dean, I didn't know it was a bad thing."

Reighn laughed. "It wasn't what you're thinking, Deanna," she teased, using the name of whom he was named after. Dean grunted and rolled his eyes. "Shut it, Midget."

#castiel imagine #supernatural imagine #castiel #supernatural #bunker #sam winchester #dean winchester #winchester

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adhdeancas · 4 years ago

Text

Sunset Sound: Honey Bee

Chapter 17 is available to read on AO3 too :)

trigger warning: panic attack/anxiety attack

Dawn has not quite hit when Dean is suddenly blinded by a light. “Son of a- what the fuck?” They’re awake before they can notice, blind fear running in their veins. Dean scrambles for his keys, stomps Baby into drive, and they’re 0 to 80 in seconds.

The spotlight hits him straight in the corneas again and he swerves and almost runs into a fence lining the road. Cas jumps back into the front seat, tugs the wheel over and they crash through the barbed wire. “Cas, what the hell?”

“We need away from the road!!” Cas explains, holding a hand up to try to fend off the horrible glare. The spotlight fades as they hit forest, Dean swearing left and right as he guides Baby through tight swaths of tree trunks. They abandon her once it gets too much and make a run for it. The spotlight can’t keep up; it pans across trying to find Dean’s plaid in the overgrowth or Cas’s trench coat, but Cas grabs Dean and throws them both into a bush before it can. Dean spits out a leaf and glares at him. “You’re welcome.” Cas mutters back, except it’s breathless, because for some reason beyond the physical exertion, Cas can’t breathe. It’s then that he realizes he’d left the walkie talkie, their only connection to their friends, in the backseat of the car.

He takes in big gulps of air but it doesn’t seem to matter, or maybe those gulps of air do too much, because it feels like his head is floating. He squeezes his eyes shut and just holds onto Dean; he needs to know that he’s still there but the panic in his skull finds the image of him too much.

“Cas?” Dean whispers, and it sounds far off. “Cas.” Cas can feel Dean’s grip on his arms, pulling at his coat sleeves like he’s trying to reel him back in. “You okay? What’s going on?”

Cas shakes his head then nods. “I’m fine, I just- am having trouble-” he takes another gulp of air because he keeps running out, and his confusion mounts. Is this what running normally feels like, to humans? Is it usually so uncomfortable and debilitating? Perhaps his vessel is just woefully - as Dean would say - flabby. Out of shape.

“Breathing?” Dean gathers from Cas’s exaggerated gasps. The fear in his own chest calms down a little bit now he knows what’s happening. “Cas, it’s alright, look at me,” He puts a hand on his cheek, trying to convince Cas to open his eyes. “Cas, trust me,”

Cas finally does, of course. He takes a breath in and opens his eyes, and it’s a mixture of stunning adrenaline and comfort that goes through his body when he realizes he and Dean are sitting almost on top of each other within the poking branches of the bush. Dean pushes a stick out of his way so Cas can see his eyes clearly. “What’s happening?”

“You’re having a panic attack, doofus,” Dean smiles at him with his best bedside manner. “It’s fine, happens to me all the time. Just-” He grabs hold of Cas’s hand and raises it so Cas can see. “Up means breathe in, down means breathe out.”

“But what if-” Cas throws a glance up, focused completely on the wrath of heaven that could descend upon them at any moment.

“Since when are we scared of a couple dicks with wings? We’ll be fine. C’mon, have I ever let you down?”

Confidence leaks back into Cas at the reassurance, and a glint reaches his eyes as he says, “Well…”

Dean mimes out a sarcastic laugh and holds their hands up again. “Alright, asshole, breathe,” He lifts their hands slowly, Cas’s breath growing past what he’s comfortable with, then lets them down even slower. Over and over again until it’s all Cas is thinking about, and he knows his heartbeat has stopped hammering so fast against his ribs. It’s still there, the panic still bothers him, but it’s manageable, which he guesses is what Dean is going for. He nods at Dean in thanks.

“I’m okay. We can go.” Dean ignores him to do three more breaths, which Cas grudgingly follows. Then he highers himself into a crouch, still holding Cas’s hand.

Dean pulls him back onto the run and they sprint until they see a cabin in the distance. They make eye contact and agree; they can take whoever owns the cabin, if they need to. It’s Cas who pounds on the door and Dean who peeks in the window, which means he only looks after the owner answers the door and Cas has grabbed him by the throat.

“Corbett?”

Cas lets him go almost immediately, but the poor boy’s eyes stay wide. “Uh-D- Dean?” Dean steps up and puts a hand on Cas’s arm, pulling him back to try and make Corbett a little less on edge. It works a little bit; the nervous man withdraws slightly and rubs at his neck. “Dean… Winchester, right?”

“Yeah,” Dean nods encouragingly and steps in front to ease his way in the cabin. Cas has a hand on his back trying to push him in faster, still aware of heaven’s spotlights looking out for them. “Been a while, buddy. Mind if we-?” He pats Corbett on the shoulder as he just stands there and stutters and Cas and Dean both get to work drawing warding on the walls.

“What are you doing?”

“Sigils, to keep the angels off your back,” Dean explains quickly, glancing at the guy’s bewildered expression. “Dude, what are you wearing?”

Corbett looks down, offended, and puts his hands on his hips. “A robe- I didn’t expect visitors!” The robe is baby blue and it stops above his knees, and Dean raises an eyebrow at it. “Hey!” He throws his hands up. “Listen, I’ll change and all, but what are you doing here? And who is he?”

“Cas. He’s- well, you can trust him.”

“...why do I need to trust anyone?” Corbett says suspiciously. He walks over to his bedroom and reemerges wearing actual clothes, not comforted by Dean’s silence. “Do you guys want something to drink- water, coffee?” His politeness takes over by instinct, and he gestures his guests to his table. “Please tell me what’s going on.”

“Coffee would be great.” Corbett looks over at Cas and he nods the same. “Uh, we got angels on our trail.”

“And that’s… a bad thing?”

“I’m not on their good list.” Now it’s Corbett’s turn to raise an eyebrow from the coffee maker. Dean smiles awkwardly. To this poor guy, being on an angel’s shitlist probably isn’t a ringing character endorsement.

“It’s a long story; promise we’ll tell you some other time. But, uh, you mind if we lay low here for a while?”

Corbett shrugs, not sure he has much of a choice, but he plops down coffees in front of the three of them anyway. “Looks like we have some time then. But, um, Dean… how’s Ed?” The kid looks at Dean hopefully, flashing some puppy-dog eyes that even Sam would be jealous of. Dean looks at Cas for help, but of course Cas has no freaking clue what Dean’s conflicted about. He looks back at him without a care in the fucking world beyond burning his tongue on his coffee.

“He’s good. I mean, not- he’s- he was sad- he mourned you and all, if that’s what you’re asking.” The tips of Dean’s ears turn red and he changes the subject before he can shove his foot in his mouth. Last time Corbett talked to Ed, Ed was pretending to be in love with him. The key word being pretending. “Anyway, so, hate to break it to you but heaven sucks.”

Cas steps in then, helps soften the blow and explains with more eloquence than Dean could. Corbett takes the news surprisingly well, something about always figuring God was a dick (yeah, growing up gay in the Midwest will do that to you), although the fact that Cas was/is an angel threw him for a loop.

“So you don’t have, like, wings or anything?”

“I did. I do.” Cas frowns down at the table. After losing all but all of his grace, his wings are but a mangled decoration for him now. Especially being in heaven, not being able to fly around stings, it feels like he is moving in slow motion sometimes. Dean’s hand appears over the table and taps his, his fingers soft and consoling. He pulls back slowly and Cas wishes he would keep touching him. “I can’t fly now, not without my powers.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah.” Cas smiles up at Corbett. The simple openness of this man is making Cas instantly fond of him. It’s a refreshing change of pace from hunters and ethereal creatures’ secretive nature. “It was worth it, though. I’m alive.”

“... you’re in heaven.”

Dean snorts, and Cas nods, amused. “I’m not here… naturally. Given the ability, I believe I would be able to traverse back to the mortal realm and live as… well, as a human.” He looks up and meets Dean’s eyes, who looks shaken by the information.

Cas could go back and live on Earth as just a regular old human, and Dean… Dean’s dead. Dean’s dead at 41 and that’s that. The thought makes his heart sink like a rock in his chest.

“Well,” Dean stands up and slaps a hand on the table, breaking the quiet of the cabin. “We should probably get going.”

“Wait.” Corbett stands too and grabs Dean’s arm, an action far more forward than he’s used to. “Dean, you gotta… please, tell me. What aren’t you telling me about Ed?”

Dean sighs, looking around the cabin for a possible exit. His eyes land on a stupid framed photo of Corbett and Ed, taken like a selfie before front-facing cameras existed. His stomach twists in a knot. How is he supposed to ruin this guy’s happiness? He thinks Ed is gonna show up someday and they’re gonna be happy and together and gay in a dumb little gay paradise.

“Please. Dean, the truth.”

The knot in his stomach twists further and Dean winces. He’s gotta tell him. Better that than the guy getting his heart ripped out when Ed finally shows up and doesn’t want him. He swallows and looks up at Cas, who’s frowning at him in confusion. Dean looks away. Better to look at Corbett. “Uh, listen, Corbett… Ed… he’s not in love with you.”

Corbett blinks. “Wha- no, he- he said-”

“Yeah, he lied,” Dean sighs and sits back down heavily. “Sorry dude, but…” He shakes his head. Corbett shakes his right back.

“No, he said he loved me.”

“I know what he said!” It bursts out of Dean before he can stop it, louder than he meant. He pauses and clears his throat, and the whole cabin is silent.

Cas puts a hand on Corbett’s shoulder. “I’m sure he meant what he said, in a way.” he says, talking out of his ass. He has no way of knowing what the situation was, but Corbett talks about this Ed man like they were close, friends, pals.

Corbett keeps his eyes fixed on Dean. Dean sighs and turns his head, looking at the young man again. “Listen, I’m sorry,” But he can’t get another word out before Corbett starts crying. He puts his head in his hands and sobs, and Dean and Cas look at each other helplessly. Cas pats his shoulder, but he shrugs it off. Finally Dean heaves himself up and squats down next to Corbett. He tugs on his hands gently, pulling them away from his face, and Cas imagines this is how Dean dealt with it when Sam cried as a child. “Corbett, man… Ed loved you, just not… listen.” He stops and Cas can practically hear the ‘shit’ in his head as he searches for the right words. “Ed loved you enough to tell you he loved you, just so you’d be able to move on. To save you.” his voice is steadier now, quiet and firm. Cas stills, just listening. “And maybe he doesn’t want to come up here and shack up and watch Desperate Housewives, but,”

Cas watches Dean’s train of thought trail away as he catches his eye. He holds his gaze, and Dean looks heartbroken. He looks insecure. He looks like he did that night in the barn, when Cas recognized his self-loathing without a second thought. Now, the expression causes Cas physical pain, and he wants to reach out and soothe him. Instead, he just stares as Dean continues talking without taking his eyes off him.

“I mean, he probably still wants to, y’know, have a beer or something. And that’s shitty, it’s- disappointing as fuck but… you gotta respect that.” He clears his throat and finally looks down. “Everything’s shitty right now.”

“Everything’s shitty.” Corbett agrees, sniffing. He was too lost in his own misery to notice the considerable tension in the room. Cas can’t get the image of Dean’s face out of his head, his words playing like a broken tape-deck over and over.

The rest of the goodbyes are said through a haze of Cas’s thoughts screaming at him, and it isn’t until they get back to the car, fuzzy small talk half-remembered, that Cas gets up the courage to say something. Still, he waits minutes into the car ride, because he doesn’t want to seem like he has been waiting to get into the car. The logic makes no sense but it controls him, and it makes his voice quaver when he finally says, “Dean?”

“Yeah,” Dean smacks his lips and glances at him once, fingers tapping the wheel to the beat of the radio.

“Why did you want me?”

Dean furrows his eyebrows and looks at Cas like he doesn’t understand the question. “Why did I…?”

“Why did you bring me- to go with you to the Garden.” Cas clarifies. Helpfully. Almost confidently, if he’s being generous with himself.

Dean gives him an incredulous glance. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t have my powers, Dean. There are angels you could have brought with you that are far more powerful. Or, if you wanted to attract less attention, there are plenty of hunters who could slip under the radar, who are more skilled in combat.” Cas tries not to let his self-doubt seep into the words. He’s not sure if it works, because Dean shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“I dunno, because I didn’t want to bring those other guys,” he says defensively.

“Dean,” Cas pushes, insistent. His heart is speeding up in his chest and he feels like he might explode if he keeps going, but he has to. His momentum is already started, and the look in Dean’s eyes as he’d talked to Corbett is giving him strength.

“What!” Dean sounds annoyed now, but it’s just more defense. He’s starting to feel like he’s being cornered into doing something terrible, like telling the truth.

“Dean.”

“Because I like you?”

It’s even and it’s uncertain and it’s vulnerable. Dean is scared as hell, but then he looks at Cas and he gets terrified. A flicker of hurt passes across Cas’s face, and it’s so severe even Dean can’t miss it.

Cas feels like a child. He feels like he’s being spoken to like a child. He had expected… but that was too much. Instead of simplicity and vulnerability, he heard patronization. “You don’t need to do that Dean.”

“Do what? I do like you, man. We’re- friends. Didn’t think I needed to spell that out for you.” Dean laughs nervously, completely un-fucking-aware of what is going on right now.

Cas looks at his lap. “Claire has explained to me what ‘friendzone’ means, and I assure you, it’s unnecessary. It always has been.” Feeling is excruciating.

Dean sputters. He had not expected the word “friendzone” to come out of Cas’s mouth like… ever. “I don’t- I haven’t-”

“You’ve called me your brother multiple times.” Humiliation burns across Cas’s face.

“No, no, I don’t mean it like- I’m not trying to friendzone you…” Dean laughs, a little crazed that he’s actually in this conversation. More that he’s about to- “I just- I want you around… because I like having you around. I want you around because I like seeing you and I like your grumpy little jokes and I like your dumb info dumps about plants and I like watching movies with you you’re only watching to humor my dumb ass…” Dean trails off, the little bit of pink in his cheeks matching Cas’s. “Listen, Cas, you’re not like a brother to me. I mean, I love my brothers, but I don’t love them like that.” He swallows, looking at the road in front of them. It stretches quiet and unremarkable, like it has no idea the progress being made in this old hunk of well-shaped metal. “Like this.”

He keeps facing straight ahead, fingers tapping out of beat against the wheel now. Cas is dumbstruck. The car is filled with the heaviness of it. It’s finally out there. Dean loves him. Cas looks over at Dean, and lights throw his face into half shadow, and he looks beautiful. Cas reaches out and grabs his hand off the wheel and holds it in his own. Dean keeps driving. One handed.

tag list:

@dochunterwitch @justonecitizenoftheearth @gnbrules @purpe @castiel-is-a-cat @alienapparatus @damian-janus-pendragon

#sunset sound #chapter 17 #honey bee #deancas #destiel #fanfic #destiel fanfic #my writing #fix it fic

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wanderingcas · 5 years ago

Text

ao3.

“Hey.” Sam tilts his chin in the direction over Dean’s shoulder. “2 o’clock.”

Dean glances over his shoulder. Cas, who is sitting next to him in the booth, likewise cranes his head, albeit a little more obviously because the newly human ex-angel still has no sense of manners.

He knows what Sam is gesturing to immediately: brunette, leggy, skirt on the northside of too short. He distinctly remembers the predatory face she made when he asked her back to his hotel room.

“Didn’t you hook up with her last time we were in town?” Sam asks in a hushed voice.

Dean pokes a fork at his scrambled eggs. “Uh, yeah. I think so.”

“Well, go talk to her!”

“Why the hell would I do that?”

Sam scoffs, giving him the Younger Sibling Incredulous Look. “Didn’t you say you liked her?”

“You’re right, Sam. I did like her. So naturally, the next step is me getting down on one knee and saying I want to have her babies.”

Cas scrunches his forehead. “I have two questions.”

“Colloquialisms, Cas,” Dean says shortly. He stabs a sausage link and savagely chews it, pointing his fork in Sam’s direction. “I got a rule and you know that. I don’t double-dip. Comes with the job.”

To Cas’s confused expression, Sam explains, “He means he never sleeps with someone twice, or he might catch feelings.” Cas continues to stare. Sam adds, “Fall in love.”

“Why would that be bad?” Cas asks.

“Have you seen our profession?” Dean scoffs. “Ain’t for me, that whole thing. But sex is good,” he adds with an especially leering grin.

Sam groans into his coffee. “You’re gross.”

“Love is bad,” Cas says musingly. He takes a bite of his waffle drenched in syrup. “I think I understand.”

“No, just—” Dean sighs. “Forget it. Maybe when you’re more human it’ll click.”

Cas looks at him curiously as he chews. Dean needs to look away.

* * *

“There’s too much of your mother in you,” John used to say.

Too much empathy.

Too much love.

It’s what got her killed, after all.

* * *

“You know, you need to define it. Whatever it is.”

There’s movement by the barn door that catches Dean’s eye; it’s only a flash of bird’s wings glinting in the dark. He makes a noncommittal sound and sinks further into his seat, the leather creaking.

“Seriously, Dean,” Sam continues, “it’s not healthy. For either of you.”

If that creepy farmer guy comes back, that’s their man, Dean decides. He’s never trusted anyone with a limp, anyway.

“Dean.”

“I heard ya,” Dean barks. “Are you going to focus on this case or not?”

“We need to talk about this.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. We don’t.” Dean squints in the dark, sees a hobbling figure approaching the barn, a familiar and stolen spell book in his hands. “Knew it was him.”

“I just worry about you.” Sam loads and cocks a gun. “Both of you.”

“It’s our business, Sam. Drop it.” Dean opens the Impala’s door, the hinges protesting. “You take his right, I’ll take the left.”

* * *

Kissing Cas is second nature now. It’s not like the awkward fumbling when they first slammed together, stuffing themselves into a supply closet so Sam wouldn’t find them, hands shaking and Dean’s ass being poked by a broom as Cas pressed desperately against him.

Kissing him, in fact, is easy: Dean’s gotten used to the texture of Cas’s lips (soft but unyielding), the way that he can make Cas hitch a surprised breath (biting his lower lip with a soft graze of his teeth), the feeling of Cas’s warm hands pressing against Dean’s back.

Even the sex has gotten easy.

But then there’s the after: where Cas sits on the edge of Dean’s bed, adjusting his tie against his open collar, frowning at the ground. The pause has become longer and longer, before he finally stands and leaves the room with a soft, “Goodnight, Dean.”

And Dean’s eyes are beginning to linger on the closed door longer than they should.

* * *

“What do you want to do as a human, Cas? Anything. Name one thing.”

Cas looks up from his cereal, hair sticking up in impossible ways and squinting at Sam. “More sleep sounds amenable.”

Sam’s laugh bounces across the kitchen’s tiles. “No, something fun that you couldn’t do as an angel. It’s time to get out and find something you like.”

“Like eating crappy diner food,” Dean suggests across the table.

“Or starting a garden,” Sam adds.

“Or eating crappy pizza.”

“Or biking.”

“Or setting the record for eating the biggest cheeseburger.”

Sam flicks a spoon at Dean’s arm. Dean leans back in his chair and grins.

Looking between them, Cas frowns. “I’m not sure what activities there are to do as a human.”

Dean says, “No wrong choice.” He considers for a moment. “Well, except all of Sam’s suggestions.”

Sam huffs a frustrated breath.

“Maybe biking?” Cas says, tentatively. “I’ve seen that activity before, and it looks enjoyable.”

“We don’t have bikes, Cas,” Dean says.

“But we can rent some!” Sam says, pulling out his phone and waving it wildly. “Wichita has a bike sharing program now! You can go anywhere in the city!”

“Oh, goody,” Dean says.

The drive to Wichita is mind-numbing, teaching Cas how to even balance on a bike is time-consuming. But finally, after the hundred or so time of Dean lightly pushing Cas’s back to give him a pedaling start, Cas stays upright rather than collapsing to the ground.

Dean feels stupid for being in a flannel and boots on a bicycle. Sam keeps reaching over and pinching Dean’s cheek while they’re riding. But then they get to a tall hill overlooking the city skyline, sun setting on the backdrop, and Cas turns around to smile all sweaty and bright-eyed at Dean, the happiest Dean’s seen him in well, ever, and Dean can’t suppress an answering smile.

Looking back, maybe that’s the moment he knew.

But maybe his heart rate was only fast from the exercise, and his lightheaded, dizzy feeling was him not having enough to eat or the heat getting to him.

Maybe.

* * *

Dean didn’t intend to overhear it. Cas and the old guy they were interviewing was in the next room, and Dean was in the tiny corner kitchen. The old man’s house was dated, sure, but Dean didn’t expect the walls to be practically paper.

“You know what’s most important in the world, son?” asks the man’s fuzzy baritone.

Cas falters, says, “Uh… no. What’s most important?”

“Love. That’s what.”

Dean rolls his eyes. They weren’t going to get anything about the neighborhood poltergeist out of this guy. His brain obviously flew into the cuckoo’s nest a long time ago.

“Oh,” Cas replies. “I see.”

“When you have something to hold onto that you love, or someone, then it makes life that much more worth it. If a dying old man like me can tell you anything, let it be that. You know what I’m saying?”

Dean’s not sure why he’s holding his breath; especially not sure why his chest constricts to a painful pitch when Cas replies, softly, “I don’t have much experience with what you’re describing.”

“Maybe you will one day,” the old man says.

Dean stares down at the countertop, chipped and broken at the edges.

“Maybe,” Cas tonelessly replies.

* * *

He didn’t mean for it to happen.

It just kind of snuck up on him and happened.

Over time, Cas’s smiles began chain-reacted a fuzzy feeling in his throat. Cas’s rarely-heard laugh made his skin feel like it was on fire. Cas’s hands simply skimming over Dean’s bare skin made him feel like every cell and molecule that made up Dean was reaching for Cas, begging for more.

Even Cas’s eyes holding his made his stomach do flip-flops.

He didn’t mean for it to happen.

He didn’t mean to break his own rule.

* * *

“What is this?” Dean asks between kisses. It’s dark but he can imagine the stunned look on Cas’s face.

Cas was never one to bullshit. He says, plainly, “I don’t know.”

Dean threads his hand through Cas’s thick hair, tugs a little tighter so he’ll forget Dean’s moment of weakness. They fall back onto the bed.

* * *

“You’re a lot like Mom, you know,” Sam just comes out and says one day. Over reading a book, while sipping his coffee, like it’s no big deal.

Dean puts down his phone. Asks in a steady voice, “What?”

“She didn’t want the job either. Wanted different things.” Sam pauses. “Like a family.”

“Why the hell are you telling me this?”

Sam looks at him with way too much meaning in his eyes. “You know why.”

Too much of your mother in you.

Dean pushes against the table to stand and leaves the room.

* * *

I love you.

It’d be so easy to let it tumble out of him; to recklessly plunge headfirst off that cliff without knowing if anything would catch him.

Instead he presses it soundlessly into Cas’s skin with his lips, his hands, his fingers—I love you, I love you. And I’m terrified.

He’s worried he’s being too loud when Cas looks at him with endlessly blue eyes, seeming to respond, I know.

* * *

There’s too much blood on the floor, and Cas’s eyes are too glassy. Dean tears out of his shirt, pressing it against Cas’s wound, but there’s not enough to hold it in, not enough to stop the very essence of Cas leaking out of him—

“It’s fine.” Cas’s voice is raspy. He holds Dean’s wrist in a weak fist. “Stop, Dean.”

Dean presses the shirt harder against the wound. Cas’s eyes grab his and hold them there.

“You knew this would happen eventually.”

“No I didn’t,” Dean whispers. “I didn’t.”

“It’s the profession, Dean. You said it yourself.”

“No,” Dean says.

“Let me go.”

Dean wakes up with a harsh gasp. It takes endless moments of harsh breathing against his pillow to get his heart rate to slow.

He walks down the hall to the room where Cas sleeps. He puts a hand on the knob; hears Cas roll over on the bed inside, the bedsprings groaning.

It’s unclear how long he stands there, forehead pressed against the cool wood of the door, counting Cas’s breaths.

Cas isn’t in danger, Dean tells himself.

Not right now.

* * *

He takes Cas to a lake, because he remembers Cas saying that he misses the ocean. It’s close enough.

It’s a cold fall day, the nearby trees drooping with golden leaves, so it makes no sense to be at a beach. But Cas seems to love it. Dean opts to sit on the sand and watch Cas dip his bare toes into the gentle lapping water.

When Cas gets too cold they huddle under a blanket, shoulder to shoulder, and watch the sun sleepily dip in the horizon.

“What do you think is the most important thing in the world?” Cas asks.

“Pie,” Dean automatically replies. “Maybe burgers.”

“Be serious,” Cas demands.

Dean sighs, his breath dancing in front of him. The sun is nearly gone; they’ll have to drive back soon or Sam will have a hissy fit. He gets bitchy when Dean’s not there to make him dinner after his afternoon run.

“Dean.” Cas pokes a gentle finger into Dean’s side.

“Uh.” Dean blows into one of his hands to make it warmer. “People. Family. Love, I guess.”

Cas nods. He squints into the dying sunlight. “Falling in love can be bad, though,” he says quietly, so soft that if Dean weren’t centimeters away, he’d miss it.

“Sometimes,” Dean agrees.

They stand, brushing the sand off their jeans, and walk back to the Impala.

* * *

That night, Dean drags out every moment: every kiss, every caress, every push and pull of his hips against Cas’s.

Cas gasps, and Dean swallows the sound with his lips. Every nerve in him feels like a firecracker ready to burst. In all his life, he’s never been so focused one one human being, on one beautiful, devastating, terrifying ex-angel sprawled underneath him.

Too much empathy.

Too much goddamn love.

When Cas leaves his bedroom, like he always does, Dean decides he needs to keep liquor in his room.

* * *

“You don’t look like you’re getting a lot of sleep. Neither does Cas.”

Dean knows. Doesn’t need the reminder.

“Have you guys talked it out yet? Whatever is going on between you?”

If they did, maybe there’d be more sleeping.

* * *

So it goes, Vonnegut wrote. Dean remembers dissecting that line in high school English, reading way more analyses than what was required for the assignment.

A nod to the existential. At death that inevitably comes.

Dean wonders if it could apply to love, too.

“I’m going to stop coming to your room,” Cas says to Dean.

Jesus Christ, Sam is sitting right there, Dean wants to say. Instead he stares, forkful of spaghetti halfway to his mouth.

“I’m gonna go… research,” Sam says, fumbling with his chair and vacating the kitchen.

Cas and Dean stare at each other.

“I’m going to stop coming to your room,” Cas says again.

“No, I—I heard you.” Dean puts down his fork. “I just. Why?”

Cas laces his hands in front of him. “When we began our physical relationship, I thought it was of benefit to you. You seemed happier and more relaxed. However, the past few weeks have taken the opposite toll. You seem anxious and the circles under your eyes are a clear indication you’re not getting a good rest. So I think it’s best if we stop.”

There’s a simmering in Dean’s gut. “You. You want to.” He clenches his fist against his knee. “You want to end this because I look tired?”

“No. I want to end this because you look like someone died every time after we have sex.”

“So fucking dramatic,” Dean scoffs. He stands and grabs his plate roughly off the table. “Well, if you wanna end it, fine by me. Just stop coming to my room.”

“All right,” Dean hears Cas say behind him.

Dean stands at the sink for a moment. The simmering pitches to a full-blown boil. He throws the plate in the sink, ceramic shattering. He whirls around to see Cas, staring, wide-eyed. “Seriously, Cas? Seriously?”

“Seriously what?” Cas volleys.

“How can you act like it’s nothing? Over and over—Jesus.” Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. “I should have known better, I really should have but I—every fucking time, it’s the same.”

Cas stands. “I’m not acting like it’s nothing.”

“Yes you goddamn are. Every night, you leave. Every morning, you act like nothing happened. Even now you’re just calmly ending the thing like it was a business transaction. Even as a human you’re as emotionless as a goddamn rock.”

“That’s not fair,” Cas says, his face contorting.

“Then tell me I’m wrong,” Dean shouts. “Tell me this all meant something to you.”

Cas is still like stone, just staring, so Dean scoffs, “That’s what I thought,” and makes his quick exit.

He’s halfway down the hallway when something grabs his shoulders, pushes him into the wall. Cas leans in close.

“You don’t understand,” he says. “You never did. I feel—I do feel.”

Dean whispers, on the precipice of something he doesn’t want to name, “Then why did you leave every goddamn time?”

Cas tilts his head. “Falling in love is bad,” he says. “I understand. Now that I’m more human, I understand.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Dean chokes out.

Too much of your mother in you.

“How did you mean it?”

He can’t do this now. Not with Cas staring at him like this. Like he’s the singular most important person in the world. “I’m scared,” he says. “I could lose you.”

“I could lose you.” Cas holds Dean’s shoulders tight. “But I love you all the same.”

Dean shakes his head. Says softly in the space between them, “That’s too much love.”

“No such thing,” Cas insists, capturing Dean’s mouth with his, not letting him give anymore excuses.

* * *

They lie in Dean’s bed, simply holding each other. It’s warm. Dean likes the way that Cas is playing with his hair, likes the feeling of Cas’s breath on his cheek.

“What is this?” Dean asks. Afraid to, but does it anyway.

“Whatever you want it to be.”

Dean frowns. Grabs Cas’s hand and winds his fingers tight around him. “Don’t leave tonight.”

Cas presses a kiss into Dean’s hair. “I never will.”

#WELLP THERE IT IS #hope you guys like it #destiel #destiel fic #inacatastrophicmind #destieldrabblesdaily #woefulcas #starsmish #wanderingwrites #i poured my heart and soul into this pls be kind #angst with a happy ending #miscommunication

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addercharmer · 3 years ago

Text

Izumi woke up to something on top of her wiggling and a little finger poking her in the cheek.

She cracked an eye and made eye contact with brilliant gold, Izumi knew that Keigo had been with the commission for a year and a half but she was mildly surprised to see that he hadn't yet lost all life in his eyes.

"Good morning my rosefinch." She rasps with her lack of clear early morning voice.

"Morning Izumi-san." Keigo says back perfectly polite.

Izumi wrinkles her nose, she will not accept that name.

"Ahhh my rosefinch is too polite!" She cries dramatically, digging her fingers into soft sides and wiggling them.

Keigo look panicked for all of half a second before he's bursting out in giggles and trying to get away from her fingers.

Izumi stops when it sounds like Keigo is just about to become breathless.

"You can call me Izu-nee or nee-chan if you want, hopefully after you talk to the adult about how we make you feel you get to stay with us forever and ever." Izumi tells the little boy seriously.

A little grumble from Keigo's stomach cuts off any of Izumi's other thoughts.

"Breakfast it is." She agrees to nothing, some more acrobatics gets Izumi out from under Keigo's weight, once her feet are on the floor she offers her hand to help him get his feet under him as well.

Izumi leads the winged boy down into the kitchen before settling him at the table. She turns the radio on just loud enough that it's barely background noise as she makes a breakfast of pancakes and fruit.

The entire time she's cooking she feels Keigo's eyes following her around the kitchen, Izumi just keeps her movements slow and easy, not sure if anything too sudden would spook him.

"Ta-da!" Izumi exclaims in a normal volume as she places a plate in front of the baby bird.

Keigo's eyes are wide and he looks slightly panicked as he speaks. "But I'm only supposed to have oats for breakfast."

The words make Izumi come to a stand still, she takes a quiet breath to calm the rage bubbling in the pit of her stomach.

"Well that may be so at the commission, but here with me and dad you can eat anything you want." She says, and pokes Keigo in the tip of his nose, then she hastily adds. "Within reason, and it won't kill you."

"Okay nee-chan." Keigo agrees with a small smile before he's digging in, she makes the cutest little chirps as he eats that Izumi has to take a moment to convince herself not to snatch the boy up and cuddle him for the rest of their lives.

"Morning pups." Nezu greets when he walks into the kitchen, by the time he's made it to the table Izumi has a plate of breakfast and a cup of tea settled for him as well.

"Morning dad." Izumi replies, she's not even thinking as she leans over and kisses between the stoat's ears.

Both of them freeze for a moment before springing back into eating.

It takes a little for the awkwardness of showing new kinds of affection to die down but when it does Izumi is quick to ask.

"Dad, I forgot to get curtains and a desk chair for Keigo's room. I also wanted to take him for some new clothes, if that's okay?" There is no hesitation in her voice like there still had been a year ago.

"Yes, make sure you also invite someone who has a fashion sense." Nezu teases her.

Rolling her eyes and giving a little huff and makes eye contact with Keigo again.

"Wanna meet my friend rosefinch?" She asks the boy. Izumi refuses to make him uncomfortable.

"Sure nee-chan." He nods, then he blushes a little. "Bathroom?" He asks and blushes deeper.

Izumi jumps to her feet and quickly scoops Keigo into her arms before she takes off at a quick walk to the bathroom on the second level.

"This is our bathroom rosefinch, not that it's the only one you can use, but most other people won't use this one, we can pick out ideas to decorate it later, I used yellow in the last house but I want us to do it together here." Izumi natters as she takes Keigo into the bathroom and puts him back on his own two feet.

Just before she closes the door she says. "I'm gonna be in my room, it's right across the hall. You can come get me when your ready."

Izumi had finished changing and was in the process of throwing her hair up into a messy bun when her door opened, Keigo shuffled into the room, his wings tucked tight to his back.

"Rosefinch, you okay?" Izumi dropped her hair and went to kneel in front of Keigo.

"I...I need help preening…" Keigo said quietly like he was afraid to ask for help.

"Ah, I don't know how to do that, but you know who will?" Izumi feels a little stupid for not having researched, she hadn't thought of one of the most necessary things for someone with wings.

At her question Keigo shakes his head but he's making eye contact now, Izumi counts that as a partial win.

"Dad will know!" Izumi tries to make it sound exciting. "Dad can teach me how to do it too, and when we are out today we can get anything special we need."

Izumi stood and offered open arms so Keigo could choose to hold her hand or be carried, the force that Keigo hit her had Izumi rocking backwards and the air quickly escaping her lungs.

Securing Keigo in her hold Izumi thanks her past self and Nezu for making sure she did weight training, even with that she didn't think she would be able to carry her rosefinch for long.

Going down the stairs was a much more difficult experience than going up, it made Izumi all the more thankful for her dance and gymnastics training.

"Dad." Izumi called as she placed Keigo on the couch. "Our baby bird needs help preening."

Nezu didn't reply verbally but he did appear by her elbow, the smile on his muzzle was the same gentle one she had gotten used to seeing in her first few months in the past.

"I was hoping he would." The stoat chirped as he climbed on the couch. "Will you open your wings for me pup?"

As Keigo opened his left wing Izumi let out a little gasp, part of her had forgotten how brilliant Keigo's wings were on the news, but seeing them in person was incredible.

"Oh rosefinch, you have the most brilliant wings I've ever seen." She told him as she lightly ran her fingers over the feathers.

Nezu squeaked out a laugh and he brought his paws up to the wing, first he started running his claws around the joints that connected to Keigo's shoulder blades.

"No oil glands." He said lightly. "You will need to buy some, we will preen again when you get back to get the feathers moisturized, then again before bed." He told the two.

Izumi realized that it was now ten o'clock and she should really ask the others about shopping before they finished preening.

Mouse?Bear?Human?: Are you guys still up for some shopping?

IBreakGlass: yep! (✿◠‿◠)

LoudAssCloud: sorry parents need me at home

FemFatale: can't sorry（￣^￣）

sleepdeprivedcat: coffee nd ill be there

Mouse?Bear?Human?: Meet at the house?

: It will probably be easier on the baby bird to meet you where he knows he's safe.

IBreakGlass: be there in half an hour. (☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞

sleepdeprivedcat: same

Izumi shut her phone off and turned her attention back to Nezu and Keigo, they were half finished the wing.

Izumi paid close attention as Nezu raked his claws through the crimson feathers. Every few seconds he would stop to pull a feather back in line with the others, Izumi grinned at how simple it was.

"Can I try your other wing rosefinch?" Izumi asks, as she steps around in front of Keigo.

Once she was behind the boys right wing extended immediately, Izumi hummed happily as she started to take her own fingers through the soft feathers.

Izumi lost herself to the soothing actions of tidying feathers that when the doorbell rang both herself and Keigo jumped.

"Yo Nezu-sensei." Hizashi' voice boomed through the house followed by three sets of steps, one soft and quick, the second just as soft as the first but longer between foot falls, the third was loud like they hadn't yet learned not to lead with their heel.

Izumi kept her hands moving, she didn't want to take them away yet, she also wanted to be within easy reach of her rosefinch in case he needed comfort with the new people.

Hizashi's gasp and coo had Keigo skittering back towards Izumi, he pressed his back into her front and curled his wings forward. Izumi just wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him tighter to her chest.

"Keigo, these are my friends." She explained quietly. "The blond is Hizashi, he makes a lot of noise but he's super fun." Keigo wings fall from their protective stance a little. "The one who looks like he could sleep anywhere is Shōta, he's really quiet but really strong."

Izumi is glad that Keigo's wings have folded as well as they can with her still plastered between the joints.

"Zashi, Shō, this is Keigo. Isn't the rosefinch the cutest thing you've ever seen." Izumi speaks louder now that Keigo has relaxed.

"Good reflexes." Shōta grunts, his tone is softer than she had ever heard it before and Izumi can't help but to smile at him.

"Oh, he is the cutest! I just want to cuddle him!" Hizashi burbles as the two boys step further into the room, his movements are telegraphed and Izumi knows he's trying his best to be non threatening at his ridiculous height.

Keigo steps away from her, fluffs his wings and refolds them. Then he's looking over his shoulder at Izumi checking for her reaction, she just smiles so Keigo opens his arms much like she had.

"Ca-can I have a hug?" He asks the two male teens once he's looking at them again.

Shōta crosses the distance smoothly before wrapping one arm around the boy's shoulder and lightly tugging him forward, Keigo goes with the tug and smooches his face into Shōta's ribs as he wraps his arms around the black haired teens waist.

Izumi isn't sure what is happening but Shōta's face is turning pink, and she finds the whole thing really sweet.

Keigo pulls away just after a few moments. Once he's safely distangles from Shōta, Hizashi shoves the sorter teen out of his way and wraps his arms around Keigo's waist and lifts him to settle on his hip.

Shōta grunts at the push, a glare being directed at Hizashi promising revenge, Izumi can't help the giggle that bursts from her throat. Keigo is looking at Hizashi like the other blond is mildly insane and it just makes Izumi giggles harder.

"Okay pups, I can take you to the mall, and you can taxi home." Nezu says from where he had stayed partially in the hallway.

Hizashi refuses to put Keigo back down as they all slip their shoes on and parade themselves to the car.

The drive sees Keigo struggle away from Hizashi, hitting him a few times with his wings to make his way over to Izumi's lap.

"Rosefinch, I won't be able to carry you the whole time." She tells him sadly before explaining why. "You're almost as big as me already, one day you'll be able to carry me."

Keigo looks sad until she points out that with her small size he could carry her when he's older.

There is a snort from Shōta at the interaction but thankfully he stays quiet.

#rewound #dad nedzu #female midoriya izuku #yamada hizashi #aizawa shouta #shirakumo oboro #kayama nemuri #takami keigo #time travel #chapter16 #bnha

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saventhhaven · 4 years ago

Text

Musically Inclined

Pairing; Sam Winchester x reader

Tags: implied smut, flustered!reader, flustered!Sam, Supernatural the Musical, confused!Dean

Word Count: 1,720

A/N: Based on S10, E5

(Gif not mine)

The two Winchesters got out of the front seats of the car in unrehearsed and unplanned unison, causing you to roll your eyes. It's like they were trying to be the unrealistic FBI agents from hoaky television shows. By the time you made it out of the car, they were already making their way up to the school. Damn them and their long legs.

"Hey!" you called after them irritably. "Are you guys gonna wait for me, or what?"

"Nah," Dean responded. Had you not been trying to keep up the professional façade, you may or may not have punched him in the arm.

"So," Sam started his signature run-down, "the last place Mrs. Chandler was seen by anyone was in the auditorium. Turns out, she's the drama teacher." Dean let out an exasperated sigh as you walked, his face more than enough for you to be able to tell that he already didn't like where this case was going.

"Theater kids. Great," he mumbled sarcastically.

"I was a theater kid," Sam said defensively. A wide grin broke out across your face, and you looked up at the tall Winchester with glee.

"No shit? I've got to hear this." Sam's lips turned almost nonexistent as he pressed them into a tight line. "No, wait, don't tell me. I can see it now: Sam Winchester himself on a stage under a spotlight, reciting Shakespearian verses in iambic pentameter."

"That ain't too far off from what he does now," Dean said under his breath as he leaned toward you conspiratorially. You snorted loudly, and Sam came to an immediate stop. Had you not been paying attention, you probably would've rammed right into him.

"You done?" he asked. Dean clapped his brother on the shoulder.

"Oh, come on, Sam, give us a line!" He only shook his head in response as the two of you continued to poke fun at him.

"Shut up."

"That's a shame," you piped up. "He would've made a great Hamlet." As the younger Winchester turned away, you thought you caught him fighting a smile. When the three of you entered the auditorium, Dean shook his head with slight disgust.

"Okay, seriously, what could possibly-"

"Idjits!" The three of you turned in surprise. It had been a long time since you had heard that. The only person who ever called the boys that was... Bobby? A teenage girl turned around, dressed in a khaki fisherman's vest, a plaid button-up t-shirt, and a worn baseball hat. She even had on a fake beard to match Bobby's appearance. "You are idjits!" she continued. You turned to the boys with a question on your lips, but before you could say anything-

"Hey, assbutt!" Another girl further away held a fake molotov cocktail with sparkly angel wings, a trenchcoat, and an unmistakable blue tie.

"Do-" You were cut off once again as an urgent piano chorus began to play throughout the auditorium, effectively causing you and the boys to jolt in surprise.

"John and Mary, husband and wife. Bringing home a brand-new life.” Your attention was diverted to the stage, where what you were assuming what was supposed to be Sam and Dean's parents carried in a fake baby, placing it in a crib.

"No way," you breathed as you latched onto Sam's arm for support. You were in total shock as the musical number continued to go on. "Th-that's you!" you stammered, fighting the urge to point. Sam nodded tightly.

"I know," he replied.

"On the road so far. They met a woman on the way-” The teenage actress version of you came onto the stage with an impressive-looking fake shotgun. The weapon recoiled in her hands, and the fake werewolf collapsed to the ground.

“And that’s me!” You remembered meeting the boys like it was yesterday, but seeing it acted out in front of you with such accuracy was surreal.

“When the boys were toast, she saved the day. Birds of a feather, now they hunt together. Teaming up to save the world.”

"Cut!" Suddenly, the music came to a stop, and a girl with a beret leaped to her feet in the front row.

"What in the h-holy..." Dean breathed.

"There is a case," Sam put in. "Probably has something to do with all this." How he was able to keep such a level head right now, you had no clue. You could barely think straight.

"You think?" Dean sassed. The girl with the beret came rushing up to the three of you with another girl at her side, and all traces of your conversation died.

"Are you guys from the publisher?" she asked excitedly. She didn't even wait to take a breath before continuing. "I'm Marie, the writer/director, this is Maeve, my stage manager, and..." Marie trailed off as you fished through your blazer pocket for your FBI badge. Before you could get it out, though, Sam placed an urgent hand on your arm, causing you to look up at the stage. No way. The three girls playing Sam, Dean, and you were all holding up fake badges to their counterparts.

"I'm Special Agent Smith," Sam introduced somewhat breathlessly. "These are my partners, Special Agent-"

"Jones," you filled in.

"Smith," Dean said. Two Smiths? You would have to remember to thank Dean for overcomplicating things later.

"No relation," Sam was quick to explain. "We're here to look into the appearance-"

"There's no singing in Supernatural!" Dean exclaimed. Biting back a sigh, you and Sam both shot Dean a look. So much for subtlety.

"Well, this is Marie's interpretation," Maeve said with a frown. Dean let out a sound that was a mixture of a strangled laugh and a groan.

"They're entitled to their creative vision," you justified before he could say anything else. "Just because you don't like that they made Supernatural into a musical doesn't mean that you have to-"

"Dean cannot find out about this." The words instantly clicked in your brain, and you totally lost track of what you had been saying. On the stage behind Marie and Maeve, the two actresses playing Sam and yourself were running lines. "He would never let us live it down." Sam's actress took your actress's hand, and you felt a blush rise to your cheeks.

"If Dean finds out, he can deal with it. We're all adults here. Besides, it's not like he's never slept with someone before." The teenage actress version of you shook her head.

"Yeah, Sam, but it's different this time! We're not just talking about sex between two random people. This is you and me that we're talking about here."

"Oh, God," was all you were able to say. That had happened a few years ago when you were still blissfully unaware that Chuck was writing and selling books about your life with the Winchesters. That moment, in particular, was supposed to be private. Sam caught your eye with an expression of horror that was incredibly similar to your own. Holy shit. Dean spluttered for a moment before he was finally able to get comprehensible words out. He looked at you with disbelief.

"You-" Thankfully, you were able to give him a discreet shake of your head before he totally blew your cover. "Y/N and Sam," he corrected himself, "are... together?"

"They're not together," you and Sam chimed in at the same time. The skin between Marie's eyebrows crinkled as she stared at you.

"What are you talking about?" she asked incredulously. "Y/N and Sam have been hooking up since book two. That's canon."

"Oh my God," you repeated miserably. You barely heard a word the boys said as they did the standard case questioning with Marie and Maeve. Meanwhile, you were more focused on how many of your intimate moments with Sam were going to be on stage.

"So, how 'bout you give the two of us a behind-the-scenes tour-" You tuned in just as Sam was gesturing between him and yourself. "-while your director shows my partner Mrs. Chandler's office. Deal?" The two girls nodded wordlessly. "Great. Give us a moment, please."

"Okay," Marie agreed. As the two of them made their way back down to the stage, you continued to stand there in stunned silence.

"I'm gonna throw up," Dean said. You nodded numbly.

"Seconded."

"Yeah, by the way, were you two ever gonna tell me about that?" he asked.

"No."

"Absolutely not." Both your and Sam's words came out in a jumble, and you glanced at the tall man sheepishly.

"Well, you heard the girl!" Dean said, throwing his hands up in the air. "It's 'canon!' So, is it still going on, or what?" You made a face at his question.

"Dean!" Sam scolded. Your entire lives were on display in musical form for the rest of the world to see, and he wanted to know if you were still sleeping with his brother?

"That can't seriously be what you're most concerned about right now," you huffed as you crossed your arms over your chest. Dean's eyes only got wider as he ignored your comment.

"Well?" he pressed on. "Is it?" You and the younger Winchester exchanged another wary glance. He clearly wasn't going to let it go until he got his answer.

"No!" you exclaimed. Dean arched an eyebrow disbelievingly. "I'm serious, Dean. Sam and I haven't hooked up in a long time." The oldest Winchester looked to his brother for verification.

"It's true," Sam confirmed. Dean shook his head somewhat manically.

"I can't believe this. Friggin' musicals," he started to mutter as he shuffled away. "Andrew Floyd Webber crap."

"Andrew Lloyd," Sam corrected. Dean turned around, making a face.

"What?" When you shook your head at him, he rolled his eyes and headed for the stage. When he was finally out of earshot, you let out a breath of relief.

"I think we're in the clear," you whispered. Sam watched his brother, who seemed to be coaching "Cas" on how to throw his molotov cocktail. What a dweeb. The younger Winchester's hand found its way to the small of your back.

"You really think he bought that?" he leaned down to murmur in your ear. You shrugged.

"I don't know," you admitted. "But maybe we should knock it off for a while just to be safe." Sam nodded.

"Agreed."

Thank you so much for reading!

As always, links to my masterlist, taglist, and inbox (requests are open!) are in my bio!

My Everythings:

@cole-winchester @alexwinchester23 @1-am-made-of-stardust @thorukindig @fiftyshadesoffandom6783 @hobby27 @supernaturalenchanted @organicpurplepants @odysseyofasiren @defenderrosetyler @crystal-lilac @youshrimpdickfucknugget

Sam Darlings:

@calaofnoldor

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chipper9906 · 4 years ago

Text

Bound To You - Chapter 6: Dead Ends

< - - - Previous Chapter

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 15

NOTE: Pairings and Ratings Will Change As Story Is Updated

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 9,111

Overall Word Count: 43,900

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Profress (6/?)

Chapter Preview:

Dean could see just how bad of a state the guy was in; dark bruises were littered all over the man’s pale skin, multiple cuts and lacerations decorating every piece of skin Dean could see, oozing out streams of dark blood that stained the button-up shirt of the man’s suit.

‘Jesus… what the hell are they doing to the guy?’

‘That’s not a “guy”, Dean…’

‘Huh?’

‘I recognize the man… that was the last vessel I saw Atheed possessing…’

‘You telling me the Men of Letters managed to trap an angel?’

Link To Fic

Click Below To Keep Reading

Character Key For Telepathic Conversations

'Italic Text' - Castiel

'Bold Text' - Dean

* * *

Dean found himself waking up the next morning to the delicious smell of bacon wafting down the hallway and into his room. It was this – and only this – that convinced Dean to haul himself out of the comfort of his warm bed and pull himself into his chair.

He had only just settled into the chair when there was a light rap of knocks on his bedroom door. He looks up to see Sam poking his head through the gap he cracked open in the door, eyes briefly scanning across the room before landing on Dean.

“Oh, good, you’re up! Thought if the smell of bacon wouldn’t get you of bed, then nothing would…”

“I’m always happy to be woken up for bacon, Sammy.”

Sam glanced at something behind the door, chuckling quietly to himself before returning his attention to Dean. “There’s someone here that’s dying to see you…”

Dean didn’t even have time to ask Sam who he was talking to before Sam opened the door a tad bit wider, giving enough room for a blur of fur to shoot into his room, claws skidding on the concrete floor as Miracle runs to him.

“Hey, girl!” Miracle was jumping excitedly at his wheelchair, desperate to get as close to Dean as possible. It didn’t even seem to faze her that Dean wasn’t quite the same as he was when he left. She just cared he was home.

‘Is… is that a dog?’

‘Yeah! This is Miracle!’

Miracle had managed to get her two front paws atop of Dean’s legs, and Dean got the jarring feeling again when he realized he couldn’t actually feel her weight on his legs. He didn’t have much time to ponder over this as Miracle had reached his face, running her slobbering tongue everywhere she can reach.

“Blegh – Good to see you too, girl.” Dean lightly pushed her away from his face, ruffling his hands along the sides of her face.

“I’ll give you two a minute,” Sam said through his chuckles, backing out from the doorway and disappearing down the hallway. “Breakfasts waiting – don’t let it go cold!”

‘Oh - this was the surprise you were talking about?’

‘Yep! You don’t sound too surprised?’

‘Just… processing it. I didn’t think you were much of a dog person?’

‘Eh, not really… But ever since Colonel, they’ve earned a bit more of my respect.’

‘The… German Shephard that was a witness to murder?’

‘That’s the one. Sometimes I think about making that disgusting potion thing to talk to Miracle. I never did learn what dogs were put on Earth for…’

‘…What?’

“Uh, nothing, nevermind. So, you wanna meet her?’

‘Am I not doing that right now?’

‘Not properly! You should take control, meet her right! Give her a good scratch behind the ears.’

‘You want me to take over? You’re sure?’

‘No Cas, I’m not sure; I’m worried you’ll take control of my body forever and kill my dog. Yes I’m sure you dumbass, now get up here!’

Miracle was able to pick up the change immediately. The second the familiar green eyes of her owner turned into that dazzling blue, her furiously wagging tail came to a stop. Yet, she did not move from her position. She didn’t back away from him in fear like Castiel was expecting her to.

“Um… hello,” Castiel greeted the dog leaning on his lap awkwardly.

‘Dean, I’m worried I’m going to startle her.’

‘Why? Can she sense you’re an angel or something?’

‘Dog’s have incredible senses, far beyond what humans are capable of. It’s likely she can feel my grace inside you, perhaps even smell it.’

‘…What does grace smell like?’

‘It varies from angel to angel. The scent typically expands out to the vessel, so it’s likely you may even be able to pick up on the smell if you were close enough.’

Cas stretched out a tentative hand towards Miracle, slowly moving his hand as not to spook her. He stopped his hand right in front of her snout, to which Miracle gave him an eager sniff.

‘Huh… that’s kind of cool, actually. Is it kind of like humans, where our body odor can smell different to other people?’

‘Not entirely the same, but similar. A human’s scent is used for mating purposes, typically. If a person has a pleasant smelling odor, it’s because their immune system is vastly different to yours.’

‘And that’s good for mating because…?’

‘Because then if you were to have a child, their immune system would be the strength of both of yours combined. It’s nature’s way of increasing your offspring’s chances – of course, humans have adapted so well in most countries that infant mortality rate isn’t much of a problem anymore.’

‘Huh… you know a strange amount about humans, Cas.’

‘Well, it was my job to watch over them for millennia’s. There’s not much else to do but learn about them.’

The longer Miracle spent sniffing Cas, the faster her tail began to wag – going from a steady swing back and forth to a blurred mess of fur. Castiel wasn’t too sure why, but the sight brought a warmth to his chest and a joyful smile stretching across his face. Miracle only became more excited at the sight of his smile, trying to pull herself up even closer and bury her head into his hands for more scratches and pets.

‘Think it’s safe to say she likes you, Cas.’

Even Dean was smiling within his own mind, watching as his best friend bonds with his other best friend.

‘I like her, too. Her fur is addictingly soft.’

‘Great for cuddles.’

‘Dean Winchester cuddling a dog? I’m sorry I missed such a sight.’

‘Says the big scary angel of the lord that’s practically melting in her paws…’

‘You think I’m scary?’

‘Now? Nah, but only because I know you wouldn’t hurt me… too bad. But when I first met you? Yeah… when you showed me your wings for the first time, I was both in awe and seconds away from pissing my pants.’

‘As soldiers of God, I suppose it makes sense that we were created to have a fear invoking appearance. In fact, when he was still in Heaven, Gabriel would often regale the story of talking to the shepherds; how he had to call after then to not be afraid as they ran away…’

‘I think I’ve heard of that story before… wasn’t it in the Bible?’

‘That it was. Gabriel begged for the story to be passed onto the prophets…’

‘Sounds like Gabriel. And that sounds like my stomach growling… Let’s get this show on the road, Cas; bacon’s awaiting.’

Switching possession was still a strange feeling for Dean. It was almost like trying to squeeze past someone in a tight corridor, going from this muted and out of focus vision to a sharp and overwhelming reality.

Miracle happily trotted alongside Dean as he wheeled down the bunker’s hallways, plastering on a smile as he descends the little ramp over the stairs into the kitchen. Sam and Eileen were situated behind the kitchen counter, Eileen sipping on a fresh cup of coffee whilst Sam finished up plating a towering stack of fluffy pancakes.

“Morning!” Eileen was the first to spot him, lowering her mug back down and returning Dean’s warm smile. “How did you sleep?”

“Good, actually,” Dean answered honestly, wheeling himself over to the kitchen island and eying up the food goods on display; an appetizing spread of bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and – the newest addition from Sam – a plate of pancakes.

“You guys make all this?” Dean was fighting himself tooth and nail not to snatch a piece of bacon for himself (and slip a piece for Miracle….)

“Yep,” Sam replied, looking proudly to the spread. “Eileen cooked up the bacon and eggs. Thought you might want some good eggs and not my rubber eggs.”

“Good call,” Dean had given in to the urge, speaking through a mouthful of perfectly crispy bacon. “Surprised you’re not serving me those egg whites only omelet and fake bacon…” Dean paused, glancing down frantically to the half piece of bacon in his hands. “Wait, unless-,”

“It’s real bacon,” Sam assured him, though rather disapprovingly as he began shoveling some eggs onto his own plate. “I’m not that cruel.”

“You did it before! Brought home that synthetic crap from the store…”

“It tastes just the same!” Sam argued over his shoulder, searching through one of the cabinets for their depleting bottle of maple syrup. “And it’s better for you.”

“It does not taste the same,” Dean grumbled in response, accepting the freshly poured cup of black coffee Eileen passed over to him. “And that’s why I don’t let you go shopping for groceries on your own anymore.”

‘Sam does raise a valid point, Dean.’

‘Oh no. Don’t you start with me too, Cas. I’m already sacrificing my whisky for you, do not ask me to give up my bacon on top of that.’

“I was starting to worry when the smell of sausages cooking didn’t rouse you from your slumber,” Sam commented, shoveling a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “Good thing the bacon did the job, or I’d have assumed you passed in your sleep.”

“Eh, what can I say,” Dean shrugged his shoulders, wheeling himself and his plateful of food (very carefully…) over to the kitchen table. “Getting stabbed through the back really takes it out of you. Plus, you see this face? Doesn’t stay this pretty at my age without some beauty sleep, Sammy.”

“You’re not that old,” Sam scoffed. “Besides, since when do you sleep in till noon?”

Dean nearly spat out his mouthful of coffee, frantically shoving his flannel sleeve back to check the time on his watch. Yep, just as Sam had said, his watch blinked back the numbers ’12:23’ at him in bright white lettering. “Huh… would you look at that…”

“You have a good dream you didn’t want to wake up from something?” Sam joked, having no idea how close to the truth he actually was.

“Something like that. Man… can’t remember the last time I slept that long. You know, without being knocked out or forced unconscious, or anything like that.”

“Obviously, your body needed the sleep,” Eileen commented, finishing off her last triangle of toast and placing her leftover scraps of sausages and bacon on the floor for Miracle to feast on (which she definitely didn’t leave on purpose). “Doesn’t matter how much drugs the hospital pumps you with; you’ll never have as good of a night’s sleep as you do in your own bed.”

“Amen to that,” Dean stretched out his arms in front of him, listening to the satisfying cracks and pops of his elbow and shoulder joints. “So, what’s the plan for today? Straight to the library, skim through books till we’re bored to tears?”

The happy go lucky smile on Dean’s face slowly slipped away as he saw the anxious looks Sam and Eileen were sharing. Uh oh… That was never good. That was the look of ‘we have something we need to tell you, and we know you’re not going to like it’. Dean hated that look… especially since he knows he’s been one to sport the expression for himself many times over the years.

“Uh, actually…” Sam begun, looking to Eileen for help. “Eileen actually kinda… found a case… while you were in the hospital.”

“Oh…” Dean squeaked out, the remaining few bites of pancake left on his plate no longer looking as appetizing as they did a few seconds ago.

“I wasn’t looking for one,” Eileen stressed that fact, guilt already twisting at her features. “It’s… it’s kind of been all over the news, actually.”

“Yeah, and that’s kinda the reason we’re bringing it up,” Sam added in, backing up Eileen. “From what we think we know… there’s already been seven deaths connected to this thing.”

“Jesus… seven?” Dean couldn’t believe he hadn’t caught wind of this himself. Then again, it wasn’t as if he had been actively searching for a case these past few days…

“We did some more research into it this morning. We’re pretty sure it’s a simple salt and burn job – a day, maybe two. It’s local too, just a few towns over.” Sam told him.

“And you’re… what, asking me for permission?” Dean wheeled himself over to the sink, focusing on dropping his plates into the soapy water rather than on Sam and Eileen’s matching looks of guilt.

“No, just… wanted to let you know is all,” Sam forced the words out rather awkwardly, unsure whether to keep in place or walk over to Dean. “We, uh… we’ll be heading off in about twenty minutes. We’ve already burnt enough daylight, so…”

“Yeah, course. Sure,” Dean forced out, pushing down the bitterness that wanted to enter his tone. “Don’t want to be the one that’s holding you guys back like I have all morning, so don’t hang around for me or anything.”

“Dean-,” Sam tried, taking a single step towards him.

“It’s fine, Sammy,” Dean snapped, holding out an arm to stop Sam from getting any closer. “Seriously. You two can watch each other’s backs, so I’m not worried there. You guys need any help, then – y’know – don’t know there’s much I can do but, guess you can call me; be whatever FBI director or whoever you need to call if the local badges start asking questions.”

“Dean… you know we wouldn’t be doing this usually, but… with the hunt so local and so many people already dead…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Dean brushed Sam off. “Go. Really, go on the hunt. I’ll be fine here. Get some research done for once.”

“We won’t take long,” Eileen assured him. “We want to help Cas, too. We’ll be here for that, we promise.”

“Uh-huh. You guys better get going then. Don’t let me stop you,” Dean rolled away from the two of them before they could say anything, forcing himself back up the ramp and down the bunkers hallway, which never seemed as long as it does now.

Miracle, ever loyal, trudged on after him, slipping into his room before he slammed the door. Turns out that slamming the door is more difficult when in a wheelchair, having to grab hold of the edge of the door behind him and force it backward. It didn’t quite make the echoing slam the heavy wooden doors usually do, which only pissed him off more. What’s the point of slamming a door if the person you’re mad at can’t feel it shaking through their bones?

‘You not gonna say something? Tell me off for getting snappy at them or some crap like that?’

‘I thought that if I remained silent that you wouldn’t direct your anger at me. Clearly, that didn’t work. I get that you’re frustrated Dean, but it’s not fair to direct that at Sam and Eileen. They haven’t done anything wrong-,’

‘Haven’t done anything wrong!? I haven’t even been home a day and they’re already ditching me for a hunt!’

‘Are you saying you wouldn’t do the same in their place? Knowing that seven innocent people have already lost their lives?’

‘No! I mean… maybe… it’s just… I just got home. Now I’ve got to sit around here doing nothing while they’re out there working?’

‘I know you want to be out there with them, Dean; but Sam and Eileen are just doing what’s right. And I think you know this, otherwise, you wouldn’t have been provoking me into “telling you off”.’

‘Really don’t like how much of me you’ve figured out after being in my head for like, three days.’

‘Does that mean I was correct in my assumption?’

Dean sent over a slightly blurry, staticky, barely put together mental image of his middle finger over to Cas, hoping it’d ruffle some feathers.

It did.

‘No need to be rude, Dean. I think I’ll retreat for a bit while you get over your temper tantrum.’

‘Temper Tantrum? Seriously? You treating me like I’m five - is that it? That how you think you’re gonna solve things?’

Cas stayed true to his word, only silence filling the gap in his mind which Cas’s words typically took up.

‘Temper Tantrum… say’s the guy that’s giving me the silent treatment. Now that’s childish.’

Silence. Nothing but silence and his own thoughts echoing in his mind.

‘Fine. Be like that. I’ll go find my own damn work to do…’

* * *

The library never felt quite so empty and… boring. Sure, he still had Miracle, who was curled up in her memory foam dog bed that Dean had dropped a few pretty pennies on (and still hasn’t told Sam about the actual price). As great as she was for company, it turns out that dogs aren’t so skilled in the whole conversation part of companionship. Unless you count Dean talking to her in that way people talk to their dogs - which he once found annoying but would now be a hypocrite to say so.

Dean had scoured through all the book titles that seemed to allude to any information on angels and vessels – well, those on the bottom of the bookshelves anyway – and now had them neatly stacked on the table in front of him. Sam and Eileen had long since left the bunker, wisely choosing not to say goodbye – or anything for that matter – disappearing into the garage and leaving him here. The hours had ticked by way too slow, the words on the page in front of him starting to blur together and become an incomprehensible mess. He had re-read this particular passage on the comparisons of the limited real-life encounters with angels to their bible counterparts about five times now, but his brain was stubbornly refusing to take any of that information in.

Dean slammed the thick-binded cover closed, choking back a cough when it kicked up a mini mushroom cloud of dust, sliding the book across the table away from him. It was all starting to feel pointless. He knew that angels were pretty elusive creatures in the supernatural world, but he had no idea it was by this much. Damn near every book on angels, or any mention of angels in any creature encyclopedia he’s scanned through all seem to have the same message of “we’re talking out of our ass here”. All these books were nothing more than guesses based on other supernatural creatures. And sure, yeah, they got some of those guesses right from the limited knowledge of angels he’s got from Cas, but there was no guarantee on any of the info. What if they find something that can bring Cas’s body back, but it’s another hypothesis? What if it goes wrong? What if it doesn’t work at all? What if messes Cas up on the transfer, especially if they need to use all of Cas’s grace for it to work, and-

‘You’re panicking.’

Dean startled in his chair, Cas’s voice joining the spiraling thoughts in his mind for the first time in a good few hours.

‘What?’

‘Your heart rate has increased to a hundred and five beats per minute and you started screaming in your head again.’

‘Oh, and so you decided to take pity on me and stop the silent treatment?’

‘I decided it was best to interrupt your incoming anxiety attack before you put too much strain on your healing body. And it seems to have worked, considering you’re converting your worries into pettiness and directing it at me once again.’

‘I get it, Cas. I’m being a dick. That what you wanted to hear?’

‘I was hoping for an apology, but I suppose that’s the best I’m going to get.’

‘Damn straight it is. Now, you gonna help me here for what?’

‘Help you how?’

Dean pulled the next book out from the top of the stack, thumping it down on the table and flipping it open to the first page. ‘You can put your special angel eyes to use and help me find something of use in here.’

‘My… special angel eyes?’

‘Yeah. What, you telling me an angel's eyesight is the same as a human’s? That the high and mighty angels of the Lord were cursed with the same pathetic eyes as the mud monkeys-,’

‘Dean, you know full well I do not look down on humans like my other brothers and sisters occasionally do.’

‘I know, Cas. Was making a joke. I’m just saying, could use a second pair of eyes as I read through this. Point out anything I might miss. Which I will. A lot.’

‘I’ll try my best.’

Another two hours passed in companionable silence, the only sounds in the library being Miracle’s snuffled snores and the occasional flip of the ancient and fragile papers under Dean’s fingers. Cas hadn’t said or anything to him in that time – or pointed out something that Dean had skipped over – which only made Dean feel all that more disheartened about this whole ‘creating a body’ idea. He hadn’t really considered the possibility that the idea might not be possible… He had just assumed he’d find something about it in one of the Men of Letter’s countless collection of books and that eventually, it would lead them to somewhere.

‘Dean… what’s that?’

‘What’s what?’

‘At the end of the table. Where you scratched your names into the table. Is that…?’

‘Oh, right. Didn’t show you…’ Dean wheeled himself over to the end of the table, the beginnings of a smile on his face as he looked down at the names crudely carved into the wood. ‘After we came home, we, uh… added you and Jack to the table. Bunker felt damn quiet and I, uh… It’s stupid, but I went back into the dungeon. Thought maybe… I dunno, maybe you’d still be there. You weren’t of course, and… next time I saw the table, I realized we should have added you long ago. Should have had the opportunity to carve your name yourself, but… yeah…’

‘Oh…’

‘You’re… okay with this, right? I’d ask Jack too but, y’know…’

‘I’m more than okay with it, Dean.’

‘You good, man? You kind of sound like you’re about to cry. You’re… not about to cry, are you?’

‘No…’

‘That didn’t sound very convincing.’

‘Didn’t sound very convincing to myself, either. Dean, do you… do you mind if I take over for just a moment?’

‘Uh… sure, Cas. Go ahead.’

Castiel pushed himself into the front of Dean’s mind, waiting for his grace to settle into full possession. He pulled himself closer to the table, reaching out with Dean’s hand and placing it down on the carvings. As gently as possible, he traced the letters of his name with his finger, ignoring the sharp bite of the rugged edges. His name. It was his name that Dean had taken the time to painstakingly carve into the table, both his and Jack’s resting alongside the Winchesters like they were always there.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to add your name sooner.’

‘I never expected you to. Which is why, perhaps, this is… affecting me more than I thought it would.’

‘Yeah… one of the things that made me realize how crappy I can treat you sometimes, Cas. Hell, you should have demanded to have had your name added here.’

‘I would never demand such a thing, Dean. This is… a very personal decision that only you or Sam could have decided, and I… truth be told, I don’t have the words to say how much this means to me.’

‘I don’t think you need words when you’re making my eyes cry, Cas.’

‘Oh, sorry – I’m still not used to your body…’

Castiel raised a hand to his eyes, finding that Dean was telling the truth when he wiped away the tears that were moments away from spilling over. He gave one last look to the names on the table, one last touch to the aged wood before handing Dean’s body back to himself.

‘Guess we better get back to researching… good old research…’ Dean held back a groan as he wheeled back over to the seemingly never-ending pile of books stacked on the table.

‘Probably for the best, yes. Actually, I was thinking before… I wonder if any of these study pieces are by Lilly?’

Dean closed the cover to the third book they had been smimming through, pushing it over to the ‘completed’ pile at the other end of the table. ‘Who’s Lilly?’

‘Lilly Sunder. You don’t remember her?’

‘Oh. Course I remember her. Huh, I didn’t consider it… She did say she had studied angels, didn’t she?’

‘Devoted her life to us. Both in scientific curiosity and… for revenge. I know her studies were from a long time ago, but it’s a possibility that her work could have ended up here. Perhaps under a different pen name, though.’

‘Why would she use a different pen name?’

‘Lilly was working on her studies back in the turn of the nineteenth century. The world wasn’t exactly accepting of women who were interested in the scientific field – especially when that involved mixing science with religious aspects. Trying to theoretically dissect a biblical creature back then… even a man in that field would receive quite the backlash.’

‘Right… Wow, humans suck, huh?’

‘You have your moments of beauty, just as you can have moments of cruelty. I like to think that you’re still maturing as a species. Someday, there will be nothing left but beauty.’

‘Very poetic, Cas.’

Dean couldn’t muster enough energy to pull another book towards him, rubbing at his tired eyes with a frustrated groan. He leaned back in his chair, glancing around at the books on shelves that surrounded him. “All the knowledge in the friggen’ world… but nothing of use.”

‘We don’t know that for sure.’

‘Doubt we have enough time left to comb through every book here, Cas.’

That gave Dean an idea. He perked up in the chair, swiveling his head towards the file cabinets that lined the back of the room. ‘Maybe it’s not in the books… maybe the Men of Letters did some research themselves? There could be something in their files!’

‘It’s a possibility. Though, I do not know of any angels that were in contact with the Men of Letters during the time period they worked in.’

Dean wheeled over to the first cabinet on the left, guessing that anything to do with angels would be stored under the ‘A’ section. ‘You say that like you were aware of every angel's movements.’

‘Not myself, but… As I’ve said before, angels rarely visited Earth before the start of the apocalypse. Only specific cases that were deemed necessary for intervention by those higher up.’

Dean’s finger stilled at the file he had reached, feeling a kick of hope burst in his chest at the title: ‘Angel Exorcism – Exorcising An Angel Whilst Leaving The Vessel Intact.’

‘Cas? You heard of something like this?’

‘An angel exorcism? Other than the relic you used on Lucifer whilst he was possessing your president… Typically, the only way to ‘expel’ an angel is for the vessel themselves to revoke their permission.’

‘You think it’s possible?’

‘I don’t see why not. If humans have found a way to place such magic into a relic… it’s a possibility.’

The file – though, it was more of a folder – was made from thick parchment paper and had been written up by a typewriter. Much to Dean’s excitement, within the folder was a reel of film that was labeled with the same title as the file.

‘Dean… I don’t see what this has to do with recreating a vessel.’

‘I’m just counting our blessings that there’s something angel related in these cabinets. And there’s talks about the vessel here, too. It’s worth a watch at least, right?’

A few minutes later (and a near tip over on a ramp that Dean would rather not mention), they found themselves in the projector room. Dean pulled out the old reel stored within the projector, feeling a fresh wave of sadness wash over him when he recognized it as the tape of Mr’s Butters that Jack had found. Dwelling on those feelings never led to anything good, so Dean hurriedly shoved the other reel into the projector slot and pressing the play button before any more thoughts of Jack begin to settle into his mind.

A grainy mess of greys and whites sparked to life on the screen, frames flickering past until the image of a man in a sharply dressed man came into view. Ah, seemed it was their favorite Men of Letters, Sinclair… Dean could recognize the room as their dungeon room, the sigils painted on the ground looking freshly painted. Behind Sinclair, just out of view, sat a battered-looking man in a chair. His hands were bound in a familiar-looking pair of silver cuffs, head slumped down in apparent unconsciousness. Next to the chair was a wheeled table, a silver tray sat atop bearing tools that Dean couldn’t quite identify yet.

“Experiment Number two-zero-seven for the Men of Letters Archive. This experiment is led by me, Mr. Cuthbert Sinclair. And my assistant behind the camera is one of our new initiates of The Men of Letters, Mr. Henry Winchester.”

‘Henry Winchester… your grandfather?’

‘Yeah… On dad’s side. I didn’t really think about how much he did in the Men Of Letters; I just knew he died after Abaddon possessed that other chick that joined the same time he did.’

“Now what we have here… is a rare occasion. The second I’ve seen. Most of humanity believes angels to be God’s messengers… there to pass on the good Lord’s words to those that are meant to hear it. Some believe them to be God’s minions, there to dish out miracles when God is… unavailable. Neither of these are true. Angels are soldiers, created to carry out God’s dirty work… And if one ever decides to bless you with their presence? Well, I’m afraid to say that a miracle is the farthest thing that will happen to you…”

Sinclair turned away from the camera, which followed him as he stepped up the side of the man still slumped over in the chair. He had come more into focus now, and Dean could see just how bad of a state the guy was in; dark bruises were littered all over the man’s pale skin, multiple cuts and lacerations decorating every piece of skin Dean could see, oozing out streams of dark blood that stained the button-up shirt of the man’s suit.

‘Jesus… what the hell are they doing to the guy?’

‘That’s not a “guy”, Dean…’

‘Huh?’

‘I recognize the man… that was the last vessel I saw Atheed possessing…’

‘You telling me the Men of Letters managed to trap an angel?’

‘It seems so…’

‘You know this angel?’

‘Not too well… We had occasionally crossed paths I suppose, but… I wouldn’t say I “know” him, no. Atheed’s garrison had been dispatched to survey a particularly troublesome band of demons who had managed to fatally wound one of us… the demons were dispatched with, but Atheed never returned. It was assumed he fell in battle, but… now that seems not the case.’

“Now, our inhabitant here hasn’t been particularly talkative… Some of the hunters under our employment were working on a typical demon case when it seems our winged foes here took a particular interest… One was left severely injured once the dust had cleared, and our hunters thought it best to bring him here for help.” Sinclair clicked his mouth and shook his head in disappointment, using his index finger to lift up the angel's chin. “A shame most will never know the true evil of these creatures… these beings with unfathomable power we foolishly believe to be our side…”

Sinclair let the angel's chin drop back down to his chest, turning his face back to the camera and flashing a smile. “See, here’s the thing – best thing we can do for most is to take this here-,” Sinclair gestured to the tray next to him, pointing directly to the angel blade – which likely belonged to the angel in question. “-And rid the world of one of these things… but in doing so, we create waste; somewhere hidden in there, crushed by the weight of this creature, is a human being. A devout believer tricked by this angel’s silver tongue. Some may say that they already sealed their fate when they agreed to possession… but as I said, angels can be very persuasive. Why should this innocent man have his life cut short? Why isn’t there a way to remove the angel, but keep the man inside alive? Today, we’re going to try just that with a little theory of mine.”

Much to Dean’s confusion, Sinclair then proceeded to unbutton the first few buttons of his shirt. Then, Dean caught sight of the thin silver chain wrapped around his neck, leading down to a small glass vial that Sinclair lifted up to the camera. The vial contained a bright liquid-like substance, it’s color hidden by the black and white footage. Not that Dean needed to see the color; he already had a feeling he knew what that swirling mixture inside the bottle was…

‘It’s… it’s grace. Atheed’s grace.’

“The last time we had access to an angel, we were able to perform another experiment; finding a way to extract an angel of their grace to see the effects it had on the angel, and to see what uses the grace can provide outside its host. I have repeated the same procedure here, but this time I have not extracted all the grace. You see, when we first performed the procedure, we expected for the removal of the grace to also remove the angel. Not so, unfortunately. It simply stripped the angel of their power, leaving them mortal… taking over control from the vessel. So this time, our angel here still has some of his grace left, but not much. Barely enough to keep himself an angel.”

Sinclair dropped his hand away from the vial, now reaching for a small box contraption sat atop the tray. He picked it up, thumb hovering over a plastic window which encased a big red button that gave Dean some serious villain type vibes.

“For our next step, we will be moving our angel outside the bunker. If things go right, there shouldn’t be a mess to clean up, but for safety sake, this is best done outside.”

Just as Sinclair had said, the footage shifted from grainy footage of the bunker interior to a shot of the forest outside the bunker. Atheed was still sat in the same chair, handcuffs still secured around his wrists, but now he seemed to be regaining consciousness. He was clearly out of it, eyes half-lidded as he blearily took in his surroundings, barely having enough strength to lift his head up from his chest. As usual, Sinclair was stood next to him, though this time a few steps away. The contraption was still sat snugly in his hand, that infuriating smile remaining plastered on his face. Strangely, Dean could see a few wires extending out from Atheed’s body, trailing down from his chest to the ground, connected to the contraption in Sinclair’s hand.

“Not only will we be removing the angel… but my hope is we are also able to kill the angel. The amount of Grace it has left is dangerously low – not enough to survive a transfer to another vessel. And these cuffs here are helping to dampen that even more… Otherwise, our angel here would have fled long ago. The only thing keeping this angel alive, to exists in this plane… is the vessel he resides in. So, it goes to say that it would be in his best interest to keep the vessel alive, wouldn’t it?”

Sinclair flashed one last smile at the camera, gesturing for the cameraman his grandpa to step back. Henry did as he was told, walking backward from Atheed as Sinclair followed him at a leisurely pace. The camera panned around to reveal a makeshift cover of sorts, a few sandbags hastily put together in the form of a wall, just enough space for two men. Henry settled behind the sandbags, camera pointed towards Atheed as Sinclair took his place behind the cover next to Henry.

“Our angel has had some… minor surgery beforehand. That is to say, we’ve stuffed him with a few pieces of explosives. Small pieces of dynamite. We left an opening for the wires to be connected to the detonator in my hand.”

‘They’re… they’re insane. They’re just going to blow this guy up?’

‘I… I feel sick. I’m not sure if I can watch this…’

“This is a risky theory, but… it’s the best we got. We need to put the vessel through some serious damage. So damaged that the angel will be forced to intervene. In its last-ditch effort, the angel will use what’s remaining of its grace to heal the vessel. But in doing so… it will have burnt through all that remains of its grace. We are left with the human, fully healed and soul still intact, whilst the angel… has been burnt out from the body. Dead. That is the theory, anyway. All that’s left now… is to see if my theory rings true.”

If Dean wasn’t so desperate for answers, he would have shut this torture porn off long ago. Instead, he – and in turn, Cas – were forced to watch the horrific event unfold. Sinclair flipped the little plastic covering of the detonator up, pressing his thumb into the big red button as casually as one would call an elevator. What was once Atheed disappeared in a spray of meaty chunks within a fine mist, the chair underneath reduced to a pile of singed timber, half of it thrown across the forest by the blast. As disgusting as it all was, Dean couldn’t tear his eyes away from the carnage. He was waiting to see those chunks of flesh on the floor start to connect back together, the spray of blood on the floor to collect and go back to its rightful body.

That didn’t happen. For a good ten seconds they could only stare at the stain on the floor that moments ago was a human being and an angel, four observers spanning across two centuries watching as an experiment fails quite spectacularly.

“Damn!” Sinclair exclaimed, tossing the detonator in his hands to the floor. “Experiment number two-zero-seven… has failed. Both the angel and human in our possession have been terminated… General conclusion seems to be that the angel did not have enough grace left to heal its vessel… Perhaps, if we’re given the opportunity again, we can repeat the experiment – but reduce the amount of grace we take from the angel…”

The frames begun to flicker, left on Sinclair’s pondering expression as the tape began to wheel down to nothing, the projector shutting off and plunging Dean into darkness. He had yet to say anything, nor had Cas. He could only stare vacantly at the blank projector screen, hoping that the image of that angel being blown into little pieces would eventually disappear from his vision.

‘Cas… you okay?’

‘No. That’s – what they did-,’

‘Yeah… I know…’

‘I know that the relationship between humans and angels have been complicated at best, but… to think the Men of Letters were capable of doing such a thing… To see us as nothing more than an ‘experiment’, it’s…’

‘It’s messed up. After all that, we’re no step closer to finding anything that’ll help you. I really thought there would be something in there, and… Jesus, I can’t stop thinking about how my Grandpa had a part to play in it… I guess they saw angels as… monsters. A threat to humanity.’

‘Our mission was to watch over humanity… We lost sight of that somewhere along the way. Now, though… I’m hoping things will change under Jack’s rule.’

‘You think he’ll make more angels?’

‘It’s a possibility. He has the power for it, even before he absorbed Chuck’s and Amara’s power. It would certainly help to stabilize Heaven, reducing the chance of the souls there being cast out and locking out those that are supposed to ascend.’

‘If only we knew what the kid was doing… would be nice if he dropped in every now and then, you know? A phone call maybe.’

‘…Huh…’

‘Huh? What’s “huh” supposed to mean?’

‘Nothing really, just… for a moment there, you sounded like a stereotypical grumpy father.’

‘Yeah? Well, we have a friggen’ God as our kid – you expect me not to be a little grumpy that he up and vanished on us? Are you not kinda pissed too, Cas? I mean – you died. And he didn’t do anything about it. Not even when you came back.’

‘I’m not going to say I understand why he hasn’t intervened in everything that’s happened since, but mostly… I miss him.’

‘I miss him too, Cas. I’m still pissed, but… I don’t know, maybe it’s more disappointment than anything. I thought – hoped, really – that once we dealt with Chuck we would all have a bit of a break. Chill in the bunker for a bit or, hell, maybe we’d finally take that beach vacation. Jack would probably go all giddy over the concept of sand-castles…’

‘That sounds nice… I think Jack would have loved that.’

‘It’s easy to forget he’s only what, three? Maybe four? Our new God is the son of Satan who is four years old… that’s not a recipe for disaster or anything, right?’

‘He hasn’t gone crazy with his newfound power and tried to bend everyone to his will yet, so he’s doing marginally better than I was.’

‘That’s… one way to look at it. And you were, what, a sprightly couple of billion years old?’

‘Not sure. I stopped counting somewhere after the eight billionth birthday.’

‘Well, if it makes you feel better Cas – you look damn good for your age.’

* * *

It was rare for Dean to have a good dream.

This was something Castiel had learned over the years. Even though Dean would often voice his displeasure at him about watching over him as he slept, Cas would continue to keep an eye on his slumbering form. Occasionally, he would look into Dean’s mind to see what dream was playing out. If it was a nightmare, he would simply place his hand on Dean’s shoulder and ebb a little bit of grace through him, flushing out the nightmare from his system. It was the least he could do, and Dean always seemed to be that extra bit more rested when he did it – so he never really stopped.

That was until he lost his wings and the boys moved into the Men of Letter’s bunker. It was easier before when he could just fly over to whichever sleazy, rundown motel they had stopped in for the night and keep himself hidden while he watched over Dean. He knew that there was nowhere safer for Dean to sleep than in the sigil covered bunker, and yet… that urge to watch over him always remained.

Nightmares were a common occasion for Dean. That was to be expected of course, with all the unimaginable horrors he’s been through in his short forty-one years on Earth. Now that Castiel was residing within his head, he could finally brush away Dean’s nightmares whenever he stepped into them.

This nightmare, however…

It had caught him off guard. It had felt as if he had woken up to the nightmare himself. At first glance, he was certain he had entered Dean’s memories of Hell. The heat was unbearable, stifling him of any air. The room he was in was packed with smoke, filling his lungs and making it near impossible to breathe. Flames licked down the walls, the ceiling above him ablaze with red-hot flames. There, in the center of the ceiling, were the charred remains of who Castiel was certain to be Mary Winchester. Even though she was nothing more than a burnt corpse, she still screamed in agony, the sound piercing as it echoed around the room.

This dream… it wasn’t acting out like the actual horrific event had. At this point, John Winchester should have already been in the room. He should have been there to witness his wife pinned to the roof; stomach ripped open as the flames erupt. Dean should have run into the burning room, should have had his baby brother placed into his arms and commanded to “Get your brother outside as fast as you can. Now, Dean - Go!” from his father.

Instead, Castiel stood frozen at the sight of Dean, four-year-old Dean leaning over the white crib, its paint peeling from the intense heat as Dean tries desperately to reach for baby Sam within. The sounds of young Dean’s panicked cries as he reached for his screaming brother were overwhelming and heart-breaking, but it was what Castiel needed for his mind to kick into gear.

What he should have done was force the nightmare to disappear. Except, he wasn’t really thinking. More… he was acting on instinct. He had rushed forward, using his arms to shield himself from the embers that danced in the air as he raced towards the crib. Within seconds he had plucked baby Sam from the crib, holding him close to his chest as he wrapped his other arm around Dean, hauling him up and tucking him into his side.

Castiel could feel the burning heat behind him as he ran, pieces of the ceiling collapsing as the fire raged on. His lungs burned with every inhale of smoke, each breath resulting in a choking, spluttering cough that left him gasping for air that wasn’t there. His heart pounded furiously in his chest, matching his rapid steps down the damaged and soot-covered staircase. He very nearly ran into the closed front door, bracing himself before bringing up a leg and slamming it into the weak spot next to the lock. The door flung open from the force, the doorframe splintering and sending shards of wood flying. Cas ran through the front door and into the front yard without looking back, keeping his hold on Sam and Dean tight.

The first few breaths of fresh air were wonderful, and he would have collapsed to his knees and sucked in as much as he could if it weren’t for the two children he held in his arms. Little Sam was still wailing in his arms, struggling against the hold of a man who, technically, was a stranger to him at the time. Dean had since gone quiet, trembling in Cas’s arms as the two of them watched what was once Dean’s home burn.

“It's okay...” Castiel whispered to the two boys in his arms, lowering himself down into the damp November dew-covered grass and watching as the roof of the house collapses in on itself. “You're okay, now. I have you.”

“Is Sammy okay?” Deans' first question came in the form of a frightened child’s broken, trembling voice. A boy that was trying to be brave - even in the face of absolute horror.

“Sammy's fine. He’s a little shaken up, but he’s okay.” Cas lowered his arm down to Dean’s level, who immediately peered over the crook of Cas's elbow to keep a watchful eye on his baby brother.

“Thank you, Cas.”

Cas's eyebrows shot up at the mention of his name. "You know who I am?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied, his eyes still glued onto Sam. “You’re my angel. Mommy says you watch over me.”

“I... I suppose I am your angel, yes. Your mommy’s right – I do watch over you. Well, big you, anyway.”

“I know,” Little Dean asserted, reaching out to trail gentle fingers down his little brother’s face, the soothing touch quietening the young boy's wails nearly instantaneously. “Big me say’s you’re my bestest friend in the whole world.”

Despite the horrific situation that was currently playing out in Dean’s subconscious mind, Castiel couldn’t help but let a small smile curl at his lips. “In the whole world, huh? Wow, that’s quite the honor.”

“Big me doesn’t have many friends,” Little Dean continued, the words dampening Cas’ smile just a bit. “Anyone he tries to get close to seem to… go away. Kind of like mommy and daddy did.”

Castiel tightened his hold on Dean a little bit more. “Yes… you’ve been through a lot – the both of you.”

“I have lots of friends at school!” Little Dean’s voice brightened considerably. “It’s not big school yet, mummy calls it kin… kinder…”

“Kindergarten?”

“Yeah! I started not long ago, and my friends are really fun! But… do you think I can keep going to kindergarten now?”

It pained Castiel to see those hopeful young eyes peering up at him, looking to him as if he held all the answers. The real Dean – at least, the Dean he knows today - is there inside this young child’s mind. That Dean knows what comes of this day, of what is waiting for him; and yet, to tell this innocent child the truth… it seems unfathomably cruel to do so.

“I, um… I think that might not happen, Dean.”

Dean’s hopeful gaze slipped, dropping his head back down to look to Sam. “Yeah… I don’t think so either…”

“You will get through this, Dean. Both you and Sam – you’ll grow up into the two most important men on this Earth. Not only will you save the world, but the entire Universe – and all the other Universe’s to ever have been created.”

“We will? Me and Sammy?”

“You will.”

“But… Sammy’s so tiny.”

Castiel chuckled quietly, looking down to the baby in his arms that was barely heavier than a bag of flour, eyelids drooping shut as he began to feel comfortable in Castiel’s hold. “He is right now, yes. He’ll grow to be taller than you, though.”

“What!? That’s no fair! I’m the big brother! I should be biggest!” Dean pushed out his bottom lip into a pout, looking from Sam to Cas with big, wet eyes that Cas is sure got Mary to cave into Dean’s demands once or twice.

“If it helps - even though he’s taller - Sam still looks up to you. No matter what.” Castiel assured him.

The pout disappeared just like that, the first smile he’s seen from young Dean this night appearing on his face. “He does?”

“Of course he does. It’s what you two do; always looking out for each other.”

“And you!” Dean insisted, leaving no room for argument. “Big Dean and Big Sam look out for you too, like you watch over us!”

“Yes, you do,” Castiel agreed gently. “You always do.”

The last of the flames were dying out now. The house was left as a pile of blackened wood, the bare-bone frames of it barely standing after the damage. Smoke billowed up from the remains, blocking out most of the clear night above them. It was almost beautiful; the last of the dying embers glowing softly amidst the pile of soot and rubble – like an abnormally large bonfire.

“Cas?”

Castiel tore his gaze away from what was once the Winchester’s family’s house, eyes landing on Dean’s searching stare. “Yes, Dean?

Little Dean glanced away from a moment, watching baby Sam’s peaceful sleeping face before risking another glance up to Cas. “Can… Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course, Dean. You can tell me anything, you know that.”

Little Dean paused, looking to him for a moment before scrambling up to his feet, leaning closer to Cas and cupping his small hands around Cas’s ears, whispering, “Big Dean is really, really scared.”

“He is?” Castiel asked, just about able to see Dean’s head furiously nodding up and down out of the corner of his eye. “What is he scared of?”

“That he’s going to lose you again.”

Dean had whispered it no louder than his last statement, yet he might as well have yelled it for how hard the words punched him in the gut.

Dean was stood by his side now, bracing himself against Cas’s shoulders as he waited patiently for Castiel to speak. It was jarring, seeing Dean like this. He was so used to Dean being the taller one than him - and now, even standing, Dean just barely reached his chin whilst he was kneeling down.

“Can I tell you a secret too?” Castiel asked, keeping his voice as hushed as Dean was. Dean eagerly nodded his head, eyes wide as saucers as he waited for Cas to spill his secrets. “I’m scared of losing you, too. And it never goes away. That’s what happens when you love someone.”

“Big Dean doesn’t like feeling scared.”

“Oh, I know he doesn’t. Could you do me a favor, then? I need you to tell Big Dean that I’m not going anywhere. As long as he wants me here, I’m not leaving.”

“You can’t promise that,” Dean said, much to Cas’s surprise. “Sometimes people don’t get to choose when they leave. If he could, Big Dean would keep you in his head forever, coz’ at least then he can protect you better.”

“I thought I was the one that was supposed to be protecting you?”

“You do. But Big Dean wants to protect everyone.”

Castiel sighed, looking up to the surroundings beyond the remains of the house. The stars were disappearing from the sky, the black of night spilling out and claiming everything else. Soon, everything around them would be nothing but an endless blackness.

Dean was waking up.

“Yes, he does... even when doing so risks himself...” Castiel noted, preparing himself to be ripped from this dream and into Dean's groggy, wakening consciousness mind.

“You're different, though,” Little Dean added, his voice fading away with the rest of the dream. “And that's why bigger me is so scared. You're something different to him – and he's too scared to find out what that kind of different is.”

#destiel #destiel fanfiction #destiel fanfic #destiel fix it #fix it #fix it fic #castiel/dean winchester #dean winchester/castiel #cas/dean #dean/cas #casdean #supernatural spoilers #season 15 spoilers #fluff #angst

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misha-moose-dean-burger-lover · 4 years ago

Text

for @bend-me-shape-me's spn advent calendar 2020. prompt: carols.

dedicated to @one-more-offbeat-anthem!! happy birthday <3

After Chuck's defeated, and Billie's gone, and the Empty has been bargained with (semantics, any of the Winchesters would say if you asked one of the four to elaborate) into returning Cas in exchange for eternal sleep, there's peace.

After they're done, and really done, there's time.

A moment to breathe, a minute to look at the clouds, and hours stretching endless, days on end, resonating with something resembling quiet.

And then, there's a guitar.

"Nope." Dean declares. "Never seen that thing in here before. And I once did Christmas inventory by myself, so I should know."

Sam snickers at Dean's cavalier tone. He'd been content to examine the instrument from a distance, unlike his brother, but that didn't mean he wasn't paying attention. "You had to do it yourself, Dean. Those were the exact words of the bet."

"I was drunk, and you hustled me!"

"You've known I play poker my entire life!"

"Well, yeah." Dean flashes his best shit-eating grin. "But you've sucked, your entire life, so —"

"— sure I have —"

"— your entire life has really just been a very long, very lame hustle!" Dean spreads his arms in a display of triumph. "And ergo, you hustled me into Christmas inventory-ing. The case is rested, your honor."

"That's not how you say —"

"Sam. Dean." Cas interjects, loud and exasperated. Sam shuts up immediately, eyes falling to his lap, while Dean exchanges a sheepish look with Cas (and Jack, who to his credit, seemed to be unaffected by the mini-feud. But that's less the part about him being God-Lite and more about him being himself. A kid who grew up watching his dads bicker endlessly and mostly, uneventfully, and has come to terms with it as a primary aspect of (at least, his) family.)

Cas, as usual, puts up with less of their crap. "Is this really necessary right now?"

Dean loves him for it, except when it's targeted at Dean and since that's kind of a lot, he isn't sure he loves it, or just loves Cas and generalises the things he does under the wider bracket of Cas.

"And if it's not," Cas goes on, using what is probably his I-led-garrisons-in-heaven voice, which automatically sends a shiver up Dean's spine. "Can we agree the guitar is, somehow, a recent addition and leave it at that?"

Sam nods slightly, apologetic. Dean just rolls his eyes, but it's a yes. (Everyone there knows it's a yes.)

"It's not cursed." Jack cuts in brightly. "Or out of the ordinary at all."

"So," Dean blinks. "We just happen to have an awesome new guitar show up, completely randomly, in this top secret Bunker no one know about, minus any ulterior motives or death curses?"

Jack grins. "Yes."

"Cool." Dean says immediately, and Sam huffs an amused laugh. He thinks he sees Cas smile as well, and a smirk grows on his face.

"Dibs."

Unsurprisingly, nobody counters his dibs, and Dean ends up taking the guitar to his room.

It's after a few days of insecurity, leading right into embarrassment, leading further to ignoring its existence, and further still to a mostly depressive array of memories — before it circles back to insecurity, and is about to repeat all over again, when he stops himself in his proverbial spiral, and decides to just friggin' do it.

That night, he picks up the pick.

Fiddles with it in his hands for a minute, and proceeds to abandon the idea again, because it does not feel right. Different shape, different weight.

And Dean Winchester's already enough of a misfit for this project, for his guitar pick to be a poor goddamn fit in his hand too.

But there's something about being so close that stirs up motivation in his heart, similar to the first day they found the damn thing, and next morning, he's out looking for a music shop in town.

That night, he finally plays.

It's uncertain — experimental — and he soon realizes why nobody ever says a damn thing about guitars when they say you never forget how to ride a bike.

But then, slowly, and really slowly at that, music seems to return to his fingers.

It isn't smooth by any chance, or even really accurate, but there's a faint tug in his brain that leads him to the next chord, and a twitch in his wrist that tells him when to strum, and he's awful, he's really friggin' awful, but even repeatedly saying so in his head refuses to dampen the overwhelming feeling that lights him up from the inside to start to feel like maybe he can play again. There's hope, and there's terrible, off-timed, broken music, and there's Dean in the middle of it, and maybe he can actually do this.

Recollection of how to play had come to his hands as they trembled, and tried, but the exhilaration of it, and the joy, only come back to his heart once he'd stopped, heart racing, adrenaline high, and unexplainable tears pricking his eyes.

Dean Winchester goes to bed that night, giddy in a way he hasn't been in years.

And outside his bedroom, his family of three exchange confused glances when the playing stopped abruptly, and then smiles when a sound that can only be said to bear semblance to a squeal, follows the silence.

(The first song Dean had played in over twenty five years had been Joy to the World.

It had also been the first song he'd ever learned — Cassie's choice, not his. Sam, Cas and Jack didn't know any of that. To them, it had just been a christmas carol. But there was also something so moving about that, soft in a way each of them knew Dean would fight against being, that they didn't realize they hadn't budged from Dean's door, long until faint snores replaced the quiet, and they left for their own beds, wordlessly already having decided on a plan for the next day.)

Cas knocks first on Dean's bedroom door, and all music immediately ceases. There's a yell from inside after ten seconds of a shuffling kind of silence.

"Yeah?"

"May I come in?" Cas asks.

Another pause.

Cas wonders worriedly if Sam and Jack were mistaken when they said that Cas had to be first, that he was their best shot at getting Dean to open up — the easiest past Dean's line of defense.

Then Dean says, a little quieter. "Yeah, sure."

Cas enters, gently closing the door behind himself before his eyes land on Dean — and he fights the urge to smile, because Dean hasn't kept away the guitar or anything. It's still on his lap, not in playing stance, with his arms folded over it — but he's not trying to hide it from Cas.

"Is everything okay?" Dean interrupts his reverie. Cas nods.

Neither of them say anything for a minute.

"Can I listen?"

Cas surprises himself with his own courage to ask — no twisted words or excuses to stay, just a simple question. Things were so rarely simple for them, but this wasn't a common occurrence either so it evened out.

"Y-yeah." Dean mutters.

Cas lights up.

"I suck, by the way." Dean adds, almost immediately. "But I'll suck less with time, I'm hoping. I mean, I'm supposed to, you know, but I — uh, I mean — maybe I —"

Cas realizes that he hadn't stopped smiling at Dean and that's what had made Dean falter, and he looks away, embarrassed.

"I'll just play, I guess." Dean manages smally, sounding as embarrassed as him.

"Please."

Dean clears his throat instead of playing.

"Yeah."

Cas can tell he's nervous. Even if he weren't good at, and very used to reading Dean, he could've gauged as much. And he wishes he had the right words, he really does, but he's aware a sincere speech of how much it means that Dean let him stay, and listen, would have the opposite effect of calming.

Then there's another knock on the door, and Cas relaxes.

"Dean?"

Sure enough, it's Jack.

Sam had explained how Dean was most likely, unfortunately, to deflect if he was there — "his denial fires up, Cas. I associate it with a parenting complex of some kind, and he just won't let go of it." — so the order had been decided as Cas, Jack and Sam. No overwhelming by arriving all three at once, or one after the other as if it were planned. No, they'd enter after some time, giving the previous person time to make Dean comfortable to them before the next enters.

Cas thinks it's a rather brilliant plan, and wonders if he should ask Sam to formulate a similar one to get Dean to open up about other things too. He doesn't, ultimately.

"Yeah?" Dean yells back.

"Have you seen Cas?"

That had been the plan.

"Yeah," Dean raises his voice to answer. "He, uh. He's right here. Come on in."

And Jack does, and eyes Cas with probably too much meaning (he means triumph) for Dean to not have noticed, before turning to the latter. "Oh. Were you about to play for Cas?"

Dean colors at that, his ears reddening almost instantly, and Cas files it away for pondering later.

"Can I be here too?"

And Dean's eyes widen a little — sign of anxiety, maybe understanding — and he licks his lips and then he nods. "I guess. I mean, okay, fine. But didn't you need Cas for something?" He adds, confused.

"I," Jack hesitates. Oh no, Cas thinks. Sam's prepared him for this, but Jack looks like he's about to, as Dean would say, wing it. And all-powerful or not, he knows his son is a terrible liar. "No, I just wanted to know if you'd seen him."

Dean narrows his eyes.

"Now I do know. That, uh, you've seen him." Jack braves on, determined to reach the bottom of the proverbial hole he'd dug for himself apparently. "So now, I don't need to know anything. Now I can stay."

Dean sighs.

"I can, right?"

There's a lightness in Dean's voice instead of tension when he says, "Yeah."

"Thank you." Jack says brightly, and all Cas can do is shake his head when Jack turns to him for feedback, and the both of them proceed to wear (nearly matching, but not on purpose) excited stares as they focus on Dean.

The final straw is when there's a third knock on the door, and Sam pokes his head in. One unconvincing "Where's everyone at?" later, he's joined Cas and Jack in staring with a unnecessary (and hopefully unintended) comfort-the-vic's-family smile at Dean.

God, he loves these dumbasses and would give his life for everyone present in the room, but none of them can act for shit.

It's glaringly obvious they've all respectively shown up to listen to him play.

Which is bullshit in itself, because Dean wasn't being modest when he told Cas he sucks — he does suck. But then, he doesn't think any of them would mind. Sam would probably unlock new levels of the puppy eyes if he knew how happy even playing awfully, made Dean. Jack would be blunt, of course, but undeterringly sweet. And Cas? He'd probably smile at him all the way through, just — that smile of his, that always seems to make time freeze and Dean's heart stutter.

So Dean decides magnanimously to not call them out.

Right away, anyway.

Instead, he turns to them with a question. "Any requests?"

(He can't play one of the only songs he remembers having learned without errors yet, so obviously asking for requests is the right way to go. But you see, once you've given up on impressing, it's only fair to see yourself to the end of the chaos.)

"Christmas carols." Jack answers before anyone else.

"It's May."

"Sam's," Jack swallows. Dean should really get on teaching the kid how to lie. "Sam's making me listen to carols."

"In May?" He asks his brother this time.

Sam shrugs, struggling to keep a diplomatic face.

"You're going to grow up to be the young adult who doesn't take off the Christmas lights in January." Dean informs Jack, who absorbs his words with all the seriousness Dean should have expected. "And, fine. We can do carols."

Cas speaks up. "Any carol you'd like, Dean."

"Nah," Dean shakes his head. "Jack requested it. We'll do what he says." And he insists to his conscience that he said so because he wants to make Jack happy, and not because he's well aware the kid isn't being subjected to carols by Sam in friggin' May, and probably doesn't know any.

"Oh." Jack's face falls. He looks at Sam in the most conspicuous way anyone's ever looked at anyone. "I —"

"Uhhuh?"

"Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer!" Cas blurts, on behalf of Jack, and there's a two second gap where Sam facepalms and Jack exchanges a conspirational glance with Cas, and then Dean's throwing his head back and laughing.

And soon, Sam's joining in with an exasperated kind of chuckling as if he's gotten stuck in the wrong team but he doesn't regret a thing, and then Cas starts too, mostly from looking at Dean losing his shit (Dean strictly ignores thinking about that part and focuses on imprinting Cas's laugh to memory) and probably also because the ridiculosity of the entire situation probably struck him, and of course Jack's smiling at all of them, and it's, altogether, everything Dean could ever have wished for.

The evening ends with Dean playing Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer (of course) for at least an hour while consistently getting better at the repeating music, and although it's him humming under his breath (like he always has while playing) that starts it off, soon all of them are offering their own awful renditions to the chaos. Cas is off-key, Sam somehow manages to screw up the lyrics, and Jack is as flat as a friggin' plateau.

And it all comes together in a wholly unmelodious kind of awesome — to Dean the same way they say a mother's love comes through for an ugly child.

After Rudolph, it's Silent Night (another song Dean's learned, it hits him, once he's trying to find the right chord) and even Cas manages to look disappointed at the lyrics Sam and he come up with to make up for not knowing the real ones, and since Jack's never heard this one, he simply listens in rapt attention leaving Dean wondering if he probably ended up learning the wrong version on account of all his concentration.

And last of all, it's We Wish You A Merry Christmas, and Dean plays the chorus enough times that he's perfect at it, because for once, no one messes up the beat or the lyrics, and everyone has the most fun.

All in all, it's an evening to remember.

What Dean learns through it all is primarily the lesson that letting your family think they tricked you into having an audience is sometimes an excellent choice to make, and that things can be crap, but still be enjoyed. That doesn't mean he's not going to practice his ass off learning to play at least the choruses of the Led Zepp tracks he gifted Cas (the idea came to him in bed last night, and Cas has always sounded like he enjoyed them, okay?) so he can play them 'for Cas' as the kid so casually put — but then, some things are different from other things, just the way some love's different too.

And while some things are about efforts, and saying the words that scare you, others are about letting go, and singing carols in bright and sunny May.

The only thing Dean's sure about is that just about all of it comes down to being free.

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queen-of-deans-booty · 5 years ago

Text

The Song Remains The Same: Part One

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,779

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

The wind in your hair felt nice compared to the cold weather you were used to. At this time of the year in most states, snow was basically all you could see. Other states—the hotter ones—didn’t have snow, but they were still pretty cold. It was a nice change of pace to feel the sun beating down on you with a warm breeze through your hair.

The environment was warm and welcoming, and you thought it was a good idea to have a picnic on top of a hill where you could overlook the park. The food was laid out in front of you, but you weren’t eating it. Everything seemed too perfect to be considered normal. Looking away from the scenery, you stared into the eyes of the one who was most connected to you. It’s been a while since she’s infiltrated your dreams, but you didn’t mind it much.

“How have you been?” Amara asked.

“Do you really want to know, or are you just making small talk?”

“Please don’t resent me,” she sighed.

“How can I when everyone is telling me you’re the bad guy?”

“All I want is to reunite my family. How is that bad?”

“And you have to do it with me?”

“Look, it took four of my nephews plus my own brother to put me away last time. Angels weren’t even created then. The whole power of Heaven against me isn’t going to go well. If I had you, I would be able to get what I want.”

“And what about what I want? I saw what Raphael did to his vessel. He left him in an almost vegetative state. How do I know you’re not going to do the same to me?”

“You want a family, don’t you? Children with Dean Winchester?”

“How do you know that?”

“Give me my family and I’ll give you yours. All I’m asking for is your help,” she sighed.

From one moment to the next, she went from calm and collected to alert and cautious.

“Amara, what’s wrong?” you wondered. She looked back before misting away in black smoke. A few seconds later, Anna stood in her place. “Anna?”

“Who were you just talking to?” she asks. By the shocked look on her face, she knew exactly who it was. However, there seemed to be no time since she got right to the chase. “I can’t find you.”

“Yeah, Castiel did this thing on our ribs,” you mentioned, rubbing the spot where he branded.

“Castiel, right,” she sighed. “Now, there’s a friend you can count on.”

“What?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell us what?”

“Where I’ve been. Of course not, why would he?” she scoffed.

“Anna, what’s going on? Where have you been?”

“Prison. Upstairs. All the torture, twice the self-righteousness.”

“That’s not like Castiel. Why would he have told us where you were?” you asked, standing up.

“Because he's the one who turned me in,” she revealed, causing you to look shocked at the news. “Don't look so shocked. He was always a good little soldier. Did anything under orders.”

“I didn't know. Are you okay?”

“No, and I don't have long. I broke out. Barely. They're looking for me. If they find me—”

“What do you need?”

“Meet me. You and the Winchesters. Two-two-five Industrial. Please just—”

The dream ended abruptly, and you shot out of bed, waking Dean who slept next to you. Whatever Anna was trying to say, she needed to get it out quickly, and the only person who could get you to where she’s at in such short notice was Castiel, who you prayed to immediately.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked.

“It’s Anna. I think she’s in trouble,” you sighed, rubbing your eyes.

Castiel didn’t trust Anna so he didn’t want you three going there to talk to her. Instead, he went on his own to find out what she wanted, but he’s been gone for some time now. Sam and Dean were up and pacing, about to call for the angel once more when he appeared by the door. Almost immediately was he bombarded with questions and concerns, all of which he answered.

Apparently, Anna wanted to kill Sam because without him, then Lucifer won’t have a true vessel, then the apocalypse won’t happen, and everything can go back to normal. She disappeared in the middle of their conversation, and Castiel wanted to figure out where she was going and what her intentions were.

He was drawing something on the table in chalk, while ingredients were spread out on the table for the ritual he was going to perform.

“Really? Anna? I don't believe it,” Dean scoffed.

“It’s true,” the angel nodded.

“So, she's gone all Glenn Close, huh? That's awesome.”

“Who's Glenn Close?” Castiel asked, straightening up in confusion.

“No one, just this psycho bitch who likes to boil rabbits.”

“So, the plan to kill me, would it actually stop Satan?” Sam asked.

“No, Sam, stop it,” you sighed.

“Cas, what do you think? Does Anna have a point?” he asked after making eye contact with you for a few seconds.

“No. She's, uh, Glenn Close.”

“I don't get it. We're looking for the chick that wants to gank Sam. Why poke the bear?”

“Anna will keep trying. She won't give up until Sam is dead. So, we kill her first,” he shrugged, pouring oil into a bowl sitting on the table.

He began chanting in a language you weren’t familiar with, and when he was done, the bowl shoots out red flames. Castiel steps away from the table, leans on the back of a chair, closes his eyes, and breathes heavily.

“Castiel, are you okay?” you asked.

“I've found her.”

“Where is she?”

“Not where. When,” he straightened up. “It’s nineteen seventy-eight.”

“What?” Sam gasps, standing up to join his brother and you. “Why nineteen seventy-eight? I wasn't even born yet.”

“You won't be if she kills your parents.”

“Excuse me?”

“Anna can't get to you because of me. So, she's going after them.”

“Take us back right now,” Dean said in a stern tone.

“And deliver you right to Anna? I should go alone.”

“They're our parents. Cas, we're going.”

“It's not that easy.”

“Why not? Castiel, I get to see my mom again. Please,” you begged.

“Time travel was difficult even with the powers of heaven at my disposal.”

“So, what, you're like a Delorean without enough plutonium?” Dean asked.

“I don't understand that reference. But I'm telling you, taking this trip, with passengers no less, it'll weaken me.”

“They're our mom and dad. If we can save them, and not just from Anna—I mean if we can set things right, we have to try,” Dean urged.

“Castiel, draw from me. If you’re too weak, then use my powers to help you. I was able to at least hold off Lucifer for a little bit which means I’m really strong. Use me if you can’t do it alone.”

“If you’re sure,” he sighed.

“Of course, I am,” you nodded.

Sam and Dean got their duffel bags ready since they were going to be needing all kinds of angel-killing weapons. Once they were ready, Castiel made sure of it before he sent everyone back in time. It would be nice to see your mom once more, but you also needed to save Mary and John from the rouge angel.

“Ready?” Castiel asked.

“Not really,” Sam chuckled.

“Bend your knees,” Dean advised, and Sam thankfully listened to him.

Castiel placed his fingers on their foreheads, and you grabbed onto his arm in order for him to draw from your power. One moment you were in the motel room, and the next, you were in the middle of the street with cars honking at you. A really old car came rushing a you three, but when the driver noticed you, he slammed on his brakes and honked the horn. Jumping out of the way, you backed up only to have the same thing happen. Pulling the Winchesters to the sidewalk, you took a deep breath as the cars continued on their way.

“Did we make it?” Sam asked.

“Unless they're bringing Pintos back into production, I'd say yes,” Dean scoffed.

“Where is Castiel?” you asked, looking around.

From the corner of your eyes, you saw the angel with a bloody nose, on the ground behind a parked car. Rushing over to the angel, the Winchesters were hot on your heels.

“Castiel! Are you okay?” you asked, helping him sit up.

He groaned and blinked rapidly as he tried to sit up on his own.

“Take it easy. Take it easy. Are you alright?” Dean asked as he helped.

“I'm fine. I'm much better than I expected,” he nodded.

The next second, he leaned over, spit blood out of his mouth, and rolled his eyes to the back of his head. Without even thinking, your eyes turned blue, and you placed your hand on his forehead. A white light shined through his wounds and nose, but he didn’t wake up.

“Castiel!” you shook his shoulders.

Placing your hand by his mouth and nose, you felt his breath only slightly.

“He's breathing. Sort of. What do we do?” you asked.

“Come on, get him up. There’s a motel right here. I’ll take him, you find mom and dad,” Dean said, taking over.

He took Castiel inside the place without much trouble, and Sam began flipping through the phone book. Once he found the Winchesters, he ripped out the page and folded it. Dean came back out once he was done with a sigh.

“So, I paid for Cas for five nights up in the honeymoon suite. I told the manager, 'Do not disturb no matter what’. You know what he said to me? 'Yeah. Don't sweat it. Want to buy some dope?’ Dope. We ought to stick around here and buy some stock in Microsoft,” Dean chuckled.

“Yeah, we might have to if Cas doesn't recover. Is he alright?” Sam wondered.

“What do I look like—Dr. Angel, Medicine Woman? He'll wake up. He's, you know, tough for a little nerdy dude with wings.”

“If he landed like that, hopefully, so did Anna. It should buy us some time,” you shrugged.

“So, did you find 'em?” Dean asked.

“Yeah. Uh, the Winchesters. Four-eight-five Robintree,” Sam read, holding up the folded piece of paper.

“Let's go pop in on the folks,” Dean smiled.

“I really hope my mom is still around,” you sighed, walking with the Winchesters to go steal a car.

They were really easy to do so back in this time era.

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crispychrissy · 5 years ago

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Foreshadow - Part 3

Summary: Y/N is hospitalized with serious injuries, and Dean realizes how much he actually cares about her. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester, Castiel Word Count: 3611 Warnings: Angst, medical stuff, fluff, smut A/N: Part three of three! I really hope you all enjoyed this miniseries! I’m going to be working on finishing my SPN Kink Bingo card, but since my birthday is on the June 21st, I will be taking the rest of this week off! This was edited by the ever so lovely @dean-winchesters-bacon. Enjoy! Part 1 - Part 2

The first time he heard it, Dean was half asleep, painfully hunched over the side of Y/N’s hospital bed. A low groan made his head shoot up, his body tense and immediately awake. Y/N’s head was moving from side to side, and the soft beeping of the heart monitor began to speed up. Dean fumbled with the bed control remote and slammed his thumb down on the nurse call button over and over again until the door creaked open and Laverne, the dark-skinned day nurse, poked her head in.

“She made a noise and her head was moving,” Dean rapsed before clearing his throat. “Does that mean she’s waking up?”

Laverne walked over and checked Y/N eyes with a pen light. She hummed and pressed a few buttons on the monitors surrounding the bed, studying their screens. “She’s not fully awake, honey. The doctor told you this might happen. Her brain was without oxygen for a few minutes, and although it may look like she’s waking up, it’s just her brain sending errant signals to her nerves.” Laverne put a hand over Dean’s and squeezed. “We’ve got her EEG hooked up to the nurse’s station, so the second we see any activity, we’ll know.”

Dean nodded and sniffled, trying and failing to return her sad smile. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

She nodded and walked to the door, pausing before she opened it. “I’m keeping her in my prayers. God and his angels are always listening, hon.”

Dean unlocked his phone and pulled up his message thread with Castiel, looking at all the unanswered messages he’d sent the angel over the last week. “I’m not so sure about that, Laverne.”

The nurse frowned but didn’t reply, slipping from the room and into the hallway. Dean rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and set his phone down on the bed before taking Y/N’s hand. She felt cold, and he carefully moved her arm under the blanket, tucking it in to keep the warmth inside. Laying his head back down on the side of the bed, Dean watched Y/N’s chest rising and falling before his eyes slipped closed.

Y/N had stopped breathing on the way to the hospital, and when they arrived in the emergency room, she had lost almost two-thirds of her blood volume. The surgery to fix the damage and remove the bullets was successful, but she still hadn’t woken up. All of the nurses knew his and Sam’s names, and they allowed Dean to use the shower and the vacant second bed in her room to sleep when his body was too sore to stay by her side.

Sam found a motel in town and was hiding out doing research and helping other hunters while he gave Dean and Y/N privacy. Sam had seen his brother go through sadness and grief before, but nothing in the past had come close to his devotion to Y/N. Dean was taking it extra hard, and Sam knew better than to try and snap his brother out of it when he was this way. Dean just had to let himself feel the pain, and nothing Sam could say would make it better.

The next time Dean heard a wheezed groan, he ignored it at first, until he felt cold fingertips brushing along the side of his face. He lifted his head and looked over at Y/N with watery eyes, smiling when he saw her beautiful eyes looking right back at him.

“Hey baby,” Dean whispered, rapidly pressing the nurse call button with renewed vigor. “Just hang on, okay?”

The room was quickly flooded with several nurses and a doctor as they began to check over Y/N and read the monitors. Finally, one they were sure she was breathing on her own, they removed the ventilator tube and allowed her to nibble on ice chips. The doctor mentioned they were going to need a few more brain scans shortly, but they would give them some privacy until they were ready.

Dean waited patiently, each crunch of the ice chips only increasing his nervousness, until Y/N finally spoke. “So who’re you?”

Dean’s face fell and his eyes began to water. “I’m… I’m Dean.”

Y/N smiled and chuckled, then coughed and wheezed at the dryness in her throat. “I know that, you idiot. Like I could forget someone like you.” She took another spoonful of ice chips and crunched away. “So where’s Sam?”

Dean let out a shaky breath and braced his arms on the side of her bed. “Don’t do that to me,” he exhaled, “I thought you had brain damage!”

“Still might,” she shrugged, “but my memory seems okay.” Y/N moved a hand to her stomach, feeling the crinkle of bandages under her hospital gown. “I got shot, right?”

“Yup. You–”

“No!” Y/N interrupted, eyes wide in horror. “My Marshall Tucker Band shirt! It was my favorite.”

Dean snorted and reached down next to his chair, retrieving two clear plastic bags, both labelled “Patient Belongings”. One bag was bloody and contained the shredded remnants of her jeans and shirt, while the other had her jacket and sneakers. “They had to cut off your clothes, so bullet holes are the least of your problems.”

“Son of a bitch,” Y/N grumbled, reaching forward to grab the bag, only to wince in pain. “Ow."

“Take it easy. You’ve been in a coma for a week.” Dean set down the two bags, then smirked. “And I have plenty of band t-shirts you can borrow while you’re recovering.”

Y/N opened her mouth to reply, but the door swung open, revealing a tall orderly who only said who he was and where he was bringing Y/N before sweeping her from the room. Once she was gone, Dean texted Sam and Castiel, begging the latter to please call him. Sam replied quickly saying he was on his way, and it was only a few minutes later when Y/N was wheeled back into the room.

“They injected me with this dye so they could see inside my brain, and it felt like I was shooting sunshine out of my ass,” Y/N said as she wiggled and smiled. “It felt so bizarre,” she looked at Dean and lowered her voice, trying and failing to whisper, “but in a good way.”

“They gave you more painkillers, too, didn’t they?” Dean asked, chuckling softly. “Enjoy ‘em while they last, sweetheart.”

Y/N smiled lazily and her eyes slipped closed as she drifted off into a drug-induced slumber. Sam arrived while she was asleep, agreeing to watch Y/N while Dean showered and caught some sleep of his own in the other hospital bed. Dean's phone began ringing only a few hours after his brother fell asleep, and Sam was quick to scoop it up and move to the hallway to answer it.

Castiel gruffly apologized for his absence, saying his phone had been smashed during a struggle with a vampire on the hunt he was on, and he wasn’t able to get it replaced until today. He assured Sam he would be able to heal Y/N, and would be arriving before sundown. Sam checked his watch, seeing it was late afternoon, and gave Castiel the name of the hospital, the address, and Y/N’s room number before hanging up.

It wasn’t the first time one of the brothers or their friends had made a miraculous recovery that required a quick exit from a hospital, so Sam quietly began packing up Y/N and Dean’s things, allowing them to get some sleep before they had to make their escape. Several nurses came and went, checking Y/N’s vitals and the various machines still hooked up to her, and it was a few hours after Sam spoke to Castiel when the angel knocked on the door and stepped inside.

“I’ll wake up Dean, do your thing with Y/N, Cas,” Sam motioned to Y/N, who blinked her eyes open at the sound of her name.

“Hello, Y/N. I am Castiel,” he greeted her. “I am going to heal you. All I need to do is place my fingers on your forehead, okay?”

Y/N groaned in pain as she shifted to sit up slightly and nodded. “Go for it, wings.”

Castiel tilted his head at her nickname for him, but reached forward and pressed his fingers against her forehead. Y/N’s eyes fluttered closed at the rush of warmth surging throughout her body. The pain and soreness she had felt was slowly eased, and once she could no longer feel the haze of the painkillers in her mind, she opened her eyes.

“Really, you couldn’t have let me finish enjoying the effects of the morphine?” Y/N pouted childishly and began removing the various monitoring equipment on her body.

“I apologize. I cannot target my grace as well as I was able to in the past.” Castiel glanced over at Sam, who emerged from behind the curtain with a sleepy Dean at his side. “I believe Sam has some recreational drugs you may enjoy once we return to the bunker.”

Sam’s eyes practically bugged out of his head as a blush danced across the apples of his cheeks. “Cas, that was one time.” Dean was thoroughly amused and silently looked to his brother for an explanation. “We were trying to see if angels could get high.”

Dean snorted and nodded. “Understandable.”

Y/N pulled the IV out of her arm with a hiss, and before she could reach to grab some medical tape and gauze, Castiel touched her forehead again and healed the small puncture wound. “Thanks,” she smiled at him before turning to look at the Winchesters, “we ready to go?”

“Not quite,” Sam gestured to her hospital gown and smiled, “but don’t worry, I grabbed some of Dean’s clothes before I left the motel.” He handed over a plastic bag and Y/N took it, slipping into the bathroom to change.

There was a pair of sweatpants and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt, both of which were too big on her, but she pulled them on, savoring the warmth and softness of the fabric against her skin. Even though Castiel had healed her wounds, she was still extremely cold and a little bit wobbly on her feet since her legs hadn't been used in a week. Once she returned to the room, Sam grabbed her belongings and left with Castiel, and Dean pulled off Y/N’s hospital ID band before they slipped from the room a few minutes later.

Finally outside, Y/N took a deep breath of fresh air, admiring the Impala where it was parked on at the curb. Dean held open the passenger’s side door for Y/N, who bowed and slid onto the bench seat. Dean pulled open his door, sat down, and started the engine.

“Where’s Sam and Castiel?” Y/N asked as Dean pulled away from the curb and onto the road.

“Sammy’s headed back to the motel room to grab our stuff and he’s gonna ride home with Cas.” Dean pushed the tape resting on the player into the stereo and clicked it on, turning up the volume on the Marshall Tucker Band song that began to play. “You’re riding with me because you appreciate good music.”

“And you kinda like me,” Y/N added nonchalantly, tapping her foot to the music.

Dean laughed and grinned. “Yeah, yeah I do.”

***

The drive back to the bunker was full of snacks, shared stories, and classic rock. Dean and Y/N beat Sam and Castiel back by almost forty-five minutes, and it was just enough time for her to take a shower to wash off the hospital gunk on her skin. Sponge baths could only do so much. Once her shower was finished and she was settled in the room Dean had showed her earlier, she began brushing her hair when someone knocked on her door.

“Yeah?”

Dean pushed the door open and poked his head in before moving inside, his hands behind his back. “Hey. How are you doing?”

Y/N put down her brush and stood, wrapping the fluffy cotton robe tighter around her body. “Much better now that she hospital grime is off me.” She gestured to the pile of Dean’s clothes she borrowed. “Might want to burn those. I was gross when we left the hospital.”

“Nonsense. I’ll just wash em.” His eyes lit up with mischief and he stepped closer. “Also, I have a surprise.” Dean moved his hands in front of him and held up what he was hiding. It was a threadbare Marshall Tucker Band t-shirt, almost identical to the one Y/N was wearing when she was shot. “It’s for you.”

“Dean, it’s perfect!” Y/N exclaimed happily, crossing the room in a few strides and pulling him into her arms, the shirt sandwiched between them. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he whispered, squeezing her tight. “I also wanted to apologize for how I treated you when we first met.”

Y/N pulled back and accepted the t-shirt, hanging it over the desk chair in the corner. “It’s okay, Dean. Garth only told me a little of your history, but I can sense the rest. I can feel the heartbreak and loss that surrounds your heart. I don’t know specifics, but I know enough to not hold it against you.” Y/N returned to stand in front of Dean, gently cupping his cheek. “You don’t have to hide yourself around me, Dean. I can tell you’re a good man, despite your so-called mistakes and the people you’ve lost. You never stopped fighting, and you never stopped helping those in need.” She placed her other hand over his heart. “And that? That’s a sign of a pure heart.”

Dean surged forward after her words sunk in, capturing her lips with his in a tentative kiss. When Y/N’s fingers threaded through his hair, he deepened the kiss, hungrily exploring her mouth with his tongue. A soft moan from her made his cock begin to swell in his jeans, and he pulled back, catching his breath.

“Tropes be damned,” Y/N whispered, a bright smile on her lips before she leaned forward and kissed Dean again, nibbling lightly on his bottom lip.

In a mess of giggles and breathy sighs, the two of them stumbled their way to Y/N’s bed. She slipped off her robe, leaving her nude, and climbed onto the bed, waiting for Dean to shed his layers and join her. Dean stripped down faster than she thought was possible, and once he was finally naked, he climbed over her and began running his hands up and down the soft skin of her curves as he began kissing her neck.

Y/N spread her legs when she felt Dean’s hands become more bold, and she shivered when his fingers slid between her folds, gathering the slick that was pooling there.

“So wet,” he murmured against her collar bone before suckling at her skin, forming a purple mark.

“Dean,” she gasped as two fingers pushed forward, sliding into her channel, stretching her. “Fuck…”

Dean continued to slide his fingers in and out, rubbing gentle circles on her clit with each thrust. Crooking his fingers carefully, he moved around, smiling smugly when his fingertips brushed against a spongy spot on the inside wall of her pussy that sent her hips straight off the bed and made a long moan spill from her lips.

“That’s it, baby,” Den praised, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, mesmerized at how her body twitched under his ministrations. His cock was throbbing and almost painfully hard, and once Y/N was approaching her climax, he removed his fingers and leaned over the side of the bed, grabbing his pants and the condom from his wallet.

Y/N was pouting, her pussy clenching around nothing, as Dean slipped the condom on and shuffled forward on his knees, settling between her legs again. Dean looked up at her, silently asking for permission, and she smiled, spreading her legs wider in invitation.

An invitation Dean would never refuse.

In one slow movement, he pushed forward, slipping his cock into her pussy until he was fully seated, groaning at how her walls fluttered and tightened around him as she adjusted. Y/N’s head was thrown back and her eyes were closed, and when Dean’s thumb brushed against her clit, she squealed and jerked her hips, looking at him with lust-hazed hooded eyes.

“Fuck, Dean, need it hard,” she begged, wrapping her legs around his hips.

Dean smiled lewdly and nodded. He pulled almost all the way out before using all his weight to slam forward, pushing the air out of Y/N’s lungs with the impact. She gasped as he reared back and repeated the action again and again until she was whimpering, babbling nonsense, as he drove her higher and higher.

Y/N had never been fucked like this before. Dean knew exactly where to touch and how to move his hips to make sure that every slide of his cock brushed against her sweet spot. His thumb worked her clit with expert pressure and precision, and it didn’t take long for the combination of sensations to pull a mind-blowing orgasm from her.

Y/N came with a shout of Dean’s name, her back arching off the bed as Dean swore under his breath and began rapidly pounding into her clenching pussy. The warm slick pressure around his cock felt like heaven, and Dean dug his fingers into her hips as his own orgasm approached. He came with a low groan, thrusting through his climax as he throbbed into the condom before collapsing on top of her and trying to catch his breath.

“Wow,” Y/N exhaled, running her fingers through Dean’s sweat damp hair. “I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard or been fucked that good.”

“Yeah?” Dean grinned, his chest puffing out in pride as he slipped out of her with a low hiss, rolling to her side. Pulling off the condom, Dean tied it and threw it across the room. It slapped against the wall before landing in the trash bin with a plop.

“Nice three-pointer, Kobe,” Y/N murmured, curling into Dean’s chest once he was laying down again.

“You like classic rock, love cheeseburgers, and you know sports?” Dean chuckled, wrapping his arm around her. “I think you should stick around for a while. If you want.”

“Oh yeah?” Y/N hummed in thought, closing her eyes. “Well, I can see the future, and I can definitely see myself in yours.”

Dean laughed and pulled the blankets up around the two of them. “I would love nothing more.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and smiled at the soft snores already coming from her parted lips. “Goodnight, Y/N."

***

Forevers [CLOSED]: @katymacsupernatural @queen-of-deans-booty @your-modern-shakespeare @wheresthekillswitch @holyfuckloueh @growningupgeek @jensen-gal @mizzezm @there-must-be-a-lock @atc74 @pilaxia @supernatural-jackles @impala-dreamer @bambi95-blog @wonderfulworldofwinchester @batmmgray @brooke-supernatural16 @dwgrl1903 @hey-bxtch @kittenofdoomage @leanbeankeane @emoryhemsworth @xalgaliareptx @mhnfatima @bi-e-ne @speakinvain @pebblesz892 @lastactiontricia @kassablanca13 @mogaruke @tockettt @imagining-supernatural @wildefire @serienjunkiegirl @mrswhozeewhatsis @stars-and-seas @jaremish @ellen-reincarnated1967 @nyxveracity @andkatiethings @bamby0304 @deathtonormalcy56 @winchesterprincessbride @moonstar86 @missihart23 @mrs-meghan-winchester @miss-rebel-without-applause @dean-winchesters-bacon @researchandbones @wayward-angelgirl @bojabee @maddiepants

Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278 @adoptdontshoppets @focusonspn @spnwoman @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @sandlee44 @spn--imagines @sadwaywardkid @roonyxx @blackcherrywhiskey @thefaithfulwriter

#foreshadow #part 3 #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #angst #fluff #smut #comedy #medical stuff #sam winchester #castiel #psychic!reader #psychic

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my-proof-is-you · 5 years ago

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I Hate You, I Love You - Ch. 12

Summary: It had been over a year since you had hunted with the Winchester brothers. You had felt you couldn’t hide your feelings anymore, so you left. While you were gone, life had been anything but good. When you meet up with the brothers again, you can’t resist staying with them. But your feelings for Dean are far from gone, and you’re afraid the pattern will remain the same. Can you hide what happened to you last year from the boys, or will the past come back to haunt you?

WARNINGS: Rape/Non-Con, mentions of graphic violence, torture

**I do not own the gifs or pics

Masterlist

Dean

Dean had been pulling himself away from Deb lately. He liked her and all, but he was having trouble keeping his emotions in check when it came to the thought of you and Sam together.

Deb tried reaching out to him and getting him to talk. But what was he supposed to say? Oh, I’m just insanely jealous of my brother and Y/N because I secretly want to be with her?

No way in hell.

He wasn’t even sure that what he felt was real. For all he knew, he could just be attracted to you physically. Of course, he did also love your personality. And laugh...okay, maybe he was kidding himself.

What the fuck was he supposed to do, though? If you were with his brother, there was no way he would stand in the way of you. Sammy deserved to be happy. He was kinda pissed that you were hiding it from him though.

“Hey, where’s Deb?” Sam asked, poking his head into Dean’s room. Dean was sitting on his bed, his laptop open in front of him.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Dean replied shortly without looking up. He knew he was acting like a dick, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Okay dude, what is your problem lately?” Sam asked, stepping further into the room with his arms crossed.

“Uh, I have no problem,” he said in the same tone, finally looking at his brother.

“Yeah, you do. So whatever it is, why don’t you just tell me? Cause you’ve been treating Y/N and I like shit lately and neither of us know why. Not to mention Deb, who doesn’t know why either.”

“Oh, so now you’re talking to Deb behind my back? What, you all get together and talk about what’s wrong with me that day?” Dean asked.

Sam looked at Dean with a mixture of confusion and anger on his face. “What, you think I’m trying to steal your girlfriend?”

“She’s not my girlfriend. And besides, I’m sure you have your hands full enough with Y/N,” Dean closed his laptop and stormed out past Sam and down the hall.

“Dean. Dean, stop!” Sam shoved Dean from behind. Dean whirled around, his face etched with anger.

“That’s what this is about? You think I’m in a relationship with Y/N?” Sam asked, unbelieving.

“Yeah, not that you’ve told me,” Dean said, getting in Sam’s face. “I saw you two the other night! I thought we were brothers. I thought we told each other things!”

“Okay, first of all, I don’t know what you saw, but I’m not with Y/N. And secondly, even if I was, what’s it to you? You’ve been spending all your time with Deb, and Y/N has definitely noticed.” Sam explained, poking Dean hard in the chest as he spoke.

“You—you’re not?” Dean asked, surprised.

“No. Y/N is like a sister to me, and that would be weird. Plus, I’m not a complete jerk. I wouldn’t go after her when I know you have feelings for her.” Sam said, his face softening a bit.

“N-no I don’t,” Dean said, trying his best to lie.

“Yes, you do. And even though it’s not me, if you don’t make a move soon, you’ll lose her to someone else.” With that Sam turned and walked back down the hall, closing himself in his room and leaving Dean dumbfounded.

You

All was quiet in the bunker, which you took advantage of by getting some reading done in the library. After a while, you heard the fluttering of wings behind you, causing you to jump up and turn around, an angel blade at the ready.

“Cas!”

“Y/N,” Castiel said, immediately launching himself forward and into your arms.

“Whoa, hey there,” you said hugging the angel back tightly. You hadn’t seen Cas since before you left the boys. When you had, he was definitely not this affectionate.

Cas pulled back and looked into your eyes, his hands on your shoulders.

“I am so sorry, Y/N. I should have been there to heal you both times you were attacked. I was indisposed.”

“It’s okay, Cas. I’m fine. See?” You spun a small circle for him. He chuckled a little, but then narrowed his eyes.

“Yes, but what about the scars? And the pain in your leg?” He asked.

“I’m fine. Really,” you said, giving him a small smile. He walked up to you and placed a hand on your cheek.

You felt warmth flow from the spot and you closed your eyes. After a moment, both the lingering pain from the damage in your leg and any residual pain from the last attack were gone. You opened your eyes and lifted your shirt.

“I am unable to heal the scars. I’m sorry,” Cas said. He did look genuinely pained by this, and you felt bad for him.

“Cas, you did enough, really. I feel so much better.” You looked at him again and saw the guilt in his eyes. “C’mon, let’s go tell the boys you’re back!”

When you and Cas turned the corner into the hallway, you saw that Dean was standing in the middle, his shoulders slumped.

“Dean, look who’s back!” You said. He turned around at the sound of your voice and his expression was unreadable. You thought maybe you saw...longing? Regardless, his face soon lit up in one of your favorite smiles, the kind that made his eyes crinkle up.

“Cas? Where the hell you been, man?” He asked, giving him a hug and big clap on the back.

“Cas is here?” Sam said, poking his head out of his room. He gave Cas a hug that mimicked his brother’s.

“Yes, I’m back. I’m sorry I was gone for so long. We had a rogue angel trying to take over heaven. It was...a mess. One that I’m glad is over,” Cas explained.

“Well man, we’re glad you’re back. How ‘bout we go get some food to celebrate and catch up?” Dean asked.

Cas nodded. “Sure. Although, do you mind if I ask you a question first?”

“Shoot,” Dean said.

Cas looked back and forth between you and Dean. “How long have you and Y/N been in love with one another?”

@malfoysqueen14 @heyyy-hey-babyyy @mere-mortifer @divadinag

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural imagine #SPN #spn fanfic #spnfandom #SPNFamily #spn imagine #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester/reader #Sam Winchester #angst #fluff #castiel #fanfic

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mattzerella-sticks · 5 years ago

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Two Left Feet by mattzerella_sticks

After so long in the family business, you need to carve out your own moments to relax. And what better time than immediately after freeing a ghost from its tether to the mortal plane. Especially after nearly dying from its hands.

Although if the ghost didn't kill him, Dean is sure Cas will. Asking him to dance was a tempting offer, one Dean knows would draw him close enough to the sun that his wings might melt. He happily takes Cas up on his offer.

Will the free fall be worth it?

Dean drops onto the floor, spectered hands around his neck dissolving into wispy dust. He stutters a gasp while trying to calm his rapid heart beat, vision slowly becoming more defined. Enough that he can see the outline of the bulbs hanging overhead and not confuse them for strange, indoor stars.

A hand jumps into view, flexed and waiting. Sam arches a brow at him, “Are you gonna stare at it or…?”

“Give me a break,” Dean sighs, grabbing Sam’s hand. His brother hauls him upwards, Dean wobbling momentarily. “You weren’t the one nearly choked out by the kinky ghost.”

“You’d prefer he attack in a bedroom or something?”

“Shut up…” He pokes at his neck, wincing. Their ghost left its mark on Dean in a way he won’t forget for a couple of weeks. Dean hopes they can stop by a pharmacy on their way to the motel, otherwise he’ll need to invest in some turtlenecks.

It was supposed to be a simple salt ‘n’ burn. A break after all the resurrected hijinks Chuck dumped on their doorsteps. Something easy they could handle if their hands were tied or they were blindfolded. Sam showed them the article three days ago about people choking on their food in this restaurant. While not unusual, five people choking in the span of two hours meant the case fell into the hunters' jurisdiction. Sam pressed their suits, Dean readied their I.D.s, and Cas loaded the fresh pound of salt they bought into Baby’s trunk.

Not even a day in Lubbock Sam figured out who their ghost was. The owner’s daughter was talking to them a few feet away from where Dean stood now, telling them about her father. How he started Sweet Ray’s Home Foods to bring people together and have them care about what they eat. And that in his twilight years he felt all the work he did went nowhere. People don’t care about food today - all they want is ambience and presentation. Because Sweet Ray’s was losing more than they were making Ann Marie fed the belly of the trend beast.

“Every time I look at the portrait of Daddy I feel like he’s disappointed in me,” she said, frowning at the kind smile on the older man’s face. Hand poised on his hat as if caught mid-tip.

“Felt like people were disrespecting his food,” Sam whispered to him, “all the people who choked were known food bloggers in the area…” Clearing his throat, he asked, “I’m sure he’s proud of you for staying with the family business… a lot of people are. Local place, been in the area for years… His burial must’ve been well attended?”

She screwed her face tight, considering the question. Dean worried she wouldn’t answer. Deem it too invasive and not important for the case. Luckily she said, “Wasn’t any burial. Came into this world as dust and that’s how we’re gonna go out…”

With their graveyard plan turning to ash he was worried they’d have to do more detective work. Risk tripping over a sore nerve and being cast off from the restaurant before finding the haunted object. But Cas came in with the most important observation. He stared up at the portrait long after the rest of them had their fill. “Your father’s hat,” he asks, “It’s remarkable.”

“It is, isn’t it?” she asked, glancing at it again, “Custom made. Anniversary present from momma - wore it all the time. Wanted it to be cremated with him but I… I couldn’t part with it. So I have it sitting where he always had it, on a bust of Clint in my office.”

Tether found they quickly wrapped up the interview. As Sam left their contact info with Ann Marie, Dean pulled Cas to the side. “Good job pinning the hat. What made you think of it?”

“I honestly didn’t think the hat would be so important,” Cas said, “I only wanted to know if they sold others like it. Thought it might look nice on you…”

Cas walked away, leaving Dean with a flushed face and a mind stuck in an endless loop searching for the correct response. Neither mentioned it again for the rest of the day. Not when they had all the time to kill in the late afternoon where they filled the silence with local news and bad reruns of shows they haven’t seen. Nor as Dean went to grab the hat from the office, touch lingering while he handed his lighter over.

Except he passed a mirror, and Cas’s words returned with full force. He wondered what he might look like in it as well. Dean only had a second to admire it, though, as popping up behind his reflection was the ghost they were hunting. It flung him out of the office and into the dining area, disturbing many of the tables and chairs. Then, without letting up, Ray appeared above him and clung to his neck like a stubborn tie.

It was supposed to be a simple salt ‘n’ burn, but Dean guesses he might be too old for even those anymore.

Cas enters from the kitchen, beers in hand. “I know it’s not a substitute for angel mojo, but,” he offers one to Dean, “it’ll make you feel better?” His neck burns from the weight of Cas’s stare. Thinking about times when all he needed was to brush up against Dean to fully heal him. Except when Chuck left he took all the power with him, meaning Cas was as human as everyone else. A thrilling but terrifying thought.

Dean thanks him with a weak smile, half his face barely finding the energy to twitch. Accepting the bottle, he takes a healthy sip from it and collapses onto a nearby chair that wasn’t overturned.

Sam joined, sitting across from him. Cas opted to lean against the nearby bar.

“Hat burn nicely?”

“Still smoldering when I left it,” Sam said, “Cas?”

“It’s gone,” he told them, “I kept the remains in the skillet, though. Along with a note apologizing to Ann Marie. Hopefully she can add it to her father’s ashes.” Cas glanced away from them, sipping at his beer.

“As long as you didn’t sign off on it then that’s fine…” Dean trails off as Cas pushes off the bar and over to the nearby jukebox. He fiddled with it silently while his backside faced the brothers. Meeting Sam’s curious gaze for a beat, Dean returned to staring at his friend’s rumpled trench coat. “Whatcha doing there, Cas?”

“It’s too quiet in here,” Cas says, “Since we exorcised her father and burnt her hat, I’m sure Ann Marie won’t mind us listening to a song or two.”

“Or drink a few of her beers,” Sam chuckles, sipping from his own bottle.

“That too.” He turns around and smiles, “Any recommendations?”

Dean waves his drink, “Whatever you want… as long as you got the change, that is.”

Cas digs in his pocket for a quarter, refocusing on the records inside the jukebox. Finding a loose coin, Cas slips it into the slot and chooses. A soft melody strums through the speakers as slow and sweet as molasses. He sways on the spot to the music.

It’s an enchanting song, the singer crooning in a deep twang to accompany his guitar playing. Cas twirls, his trench coat fanning behind him. He peeks one eye open at them and frowns. “This isn’t right.”

“Don’t know about that,” Dean says, “looks pretty right to me.”

“No I meant,” he sighs, advancing towards their table. “I shouldn’t be dancing alone. It’s so… awkward . One of you should come dance with me.”

Dean’s grip on the bottle’s neck tightens. He swallows around the bundle of nerves in his throat, made tougher by how the ghost squeezed it. Cas keeps his eyes trained on Dean’s as he steps closer. Only at the last minute he switches over to stand by Sam. “Would you care to join me, Sam?”

Sam schools his features to hide how amused he is. He shakes his head, “Sorry, Cas, I wouldn’t be any good. Was born with two left feet.”

“Shame,” Cas hums, returning his attention to Dean, “Were you, then?”

The haze Dean’s trapped him blocks out most of his hearing. Fluttering his lashes he asks, “Was I what?”

“Born with two left feet?”

Thrown, Dean answers honestly with a meek ‘no’.

“Good,” Cas grins, teeth unfurling like the bright, white banner of Dean’s surrender, “Then come dance with me.”

Disagreement bubbles within him, burst by the sharp blue of Cas’s gaze. He sighs and finishes off his drink. “You know I can’t say no to you, angel.”

Tensing, Dean waits for Cas to pull away from him. Except he never does. Never rages or cries or leaves like he expects him to, like he thinks he should. The first time Dean used that nickname was one tiresome night after putting down some ghouls. They gathered in the kitchen, too exhausted to find their rooms. Barely conscious he asked his friend, “Angel could you put on the coffee?”

No caffeine could compare to the adrenaline shooting through him after saying that. He bit his lip and glanced over at Cas, hoping he hadn’t heard him. But Cas nodded and dug inside the cabinets for the K-cups.

Dean tried apologizing between sips of his coffee. Cas wouldn’t accept it, telling him it was okay. “I might not be an angel anymore,” he sighed, running his thumb against the rim of his mug, “yet I’m glad I can be… your angel.”

He sealed that tender moment in the walk-in freezer of his mind so he wouldn’t have to deal with it, along with every other uncomfortable thought Dean has about Cas. If Dean didn’t focus too much on those feelings than he wouldn’t have to deal with the disappointment that would surely follow.

“Dean?” Cas disturbs him from his trance, “Before the song ends?”

Rolling his eyes, Dean pulls himself forward and into his friend’s space. “C’mere,” he says, dragging him closer with a hand at his back. His other hand tangles with Cas as they sway into the makeshift dance floor the ghost created.

Cas’s hand rests at his lower back. Even if he is human now it still burns like Cas pours all his grace through this point of connection. His head drifts close to Dean’s in a way that forces every nerve to spark and ready for the inevitable. While they share orbits and their breaths mingle, Cas never gets close enough to press skin against skin. Instead leaning away to sway onto his heels.

It’d be easy for Dean to leap first. Their fingers are already tangled together, fit so perfectly Dean can’t believe he’s actually allowed to hold Cas in such a way. His face pinches with the forced tightness he inflicts on his expression. If he let it slip he might scare Cas with the pure fire and delight wanting to break free. If their cheeks did happen to brush or Cas’s eyelashes tickled his nose Dean might burst. Lose all consciousness and only awake after doing something he would regret never being able to remember.

The song starts trailing off and Cas’s expression falters. Like he wants another minute of dancing, to spend more time with him. Dean would trade anything for the song to never end, so he and Cas could dance around each other into eternity. Unable to do that he tries to make the last few chords special and twirls Cas around.

“Hey!” Sam calls, “You want me to throw you a rose?”

Immediately remembering their audience, Dean’s face flushes a bright pink. Dean steps away from Cas and strides towards the exit. “Should probably be getting out of here anyway…”

Dean has his hand on Baby’s door when he realizes finding his keys is impossible. Because Cas never let go of his hand. Or, more embarrassingly, Dean won’t let him leave.

“Uh, sorry there, Cas,” Dean starts, fingers twitching in his hold, “didn’t mean to… leave with you like that.”

“I didn’t mind, Dean,” Cas says, smiling at him like how the sun parts through clouds,“It is rather late, isn’t it? At least we managed to have one dance…”

“Half a dance,” he corrects him, cringing.

“Half a dance…” Cas repeats, expression never faltering, “then we should finish it at some point, don’t you think?”

“What?”

“Might I confess something?” he continues, mouth dipping close to the shell of his ear. Dean’s thoughts stretch and thin until finally his sanity snaps. He nods, not trusting his voice to crack like he was a teenager all over again. Cas chuckles, breath ghosting and leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Seeing the ghost mark you up like that… makes me sad that I cannot remove those bruises like I used to. But I have a solution that would… satisfy both of us.”

His hand not caught in Dean’s slowly rubs at Dean’s neck. There’s no mistaking the subtext, a heady stare following his electric touch hammering the point home.

Dean’s lips stretch wide in a bright grin. “I’d like that.”

Sam barges in, shotgun in one hand and the bag of salt tucked under his arm. “Thanks for helping me clean up, guys,” he says, “Really appreciate it.”

Usually whenever Sam clumsily knocks into one of his and Cas’s moments Dean flings himself away faster than a bullet. Except he can’t find any reason to tear himself from Cas’s side, rooted to the ground happily.

“Catch,” he says after a quick dip into his pocket.

Sam panics, nearly dropping the salt to keep the keys from falling to the ground. “What? Want me to drive?”

“I got choked out by the ghost, it’s the least you can do,” Dean smirks, stepping in time with Cas to the backseat, “Besides… my hands are gonna be pretty busy.”

“Gross. I better not catch you two getting heavy in the rearview mirror.”

“Then don’t be a perv, Sammy.”

Sam sighs and drops the argument, bypassing them to go towards the trunk. Dean opens the door and tumbles into Baby clutching Cas. They giggle like they don’t have the weight of the world on their shoulders. As light and free as smoke off a freshly lit cigarette, rising above the cinders they’ve left in their wake.

“Hey, angel?”

“Yes Dean?”

“Thanks for asking me to dance.”

“Thank you for dancing with me.”

“I can’t say no to you, angel,” Dean whispers, “not now… not ever.” They kiss, a simple touch of their lips against each other. It’s over faster than he can blink. But it’s okay. Dean knows there are more kisses waiting for him. More kisses, more dancing, and more of his angel.

#Supernatural #Spn #Dean Winchester #Castiel #Destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic

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